The Plague of Survivalism (Huffington Post)

The Jewish people have a knack for surviving, even in the face of great odds. Sometimes, however, it seems as if that is our only goal.

In the Torah portion Vayigash, Joseph, having grown in power and influence in Egypt after his brothers left him for dead in the desert many years before, now reveals his true identity to his assembled siblings. While his remorseful brothers are in a state of disbelief about his unexpected and seemingly miraculous reappearance, Joseph tries to reassure them and assuage their guilt.

"God has sent me ahead of you to ensure your survival on earth," Joseph informs them, "and to save your lives in an extraordinary deliverance. So, it was not you who sent me here, but God" (Gen. 45:7-8). There is a terrible famine in the land of Canaan, and Joseph, seeing this all as part of a divine plan to ensure his family's (and thus his people's) survival, encourages them to escape the impact of the famine by settling in Goshen. The story of the Jewish people has barely begun, and already survival itself has become a primary focus--and will be so throughout Jewish history.

Unfortunately, a kind of "survivalist" mindset will follow--and I would argue plague--the Jewish people for many centuries to come, one that disproportionately and even corrosively focuses on all those forces arrayed against us that threaten our survival. While there have been real and serious threats to Jewish survival, an almost single-minded preoccupation with them even when we have not been under siege has damaged the way that Jews have looked at the world--and at ourselves. We have been too often in a seemingly perpetual state of crisis, deeply focused on our numbers and a narrative that is both misguided and unhealthy.

Salo Baron, the great Jewish historian, opposed what he referred to as the "lachrymose" conception of Jewish history. According to this narrative--which Baron thought was as prevalent as it was false--the history of the Jewish people is nothing but a series of calamities and tragedies that have threatened our survival, one after the other after the other.

A colleague of mine recently attended an annual gathering of the philanthropic leaders of the North American Jewish community. She was shocked by the level of fear (and even reactionary tone) that permeated the multi-day event. Speakers and participants alike were consumed with and distressed by issues that they felt threatened the very survival of Israel and the Jewish people worldwide: the conflict in Gaza, European anti-Semitism, anti-Israel trends on college campuses, low affiliation rates at Jewish institutions, high intermarriage rates, and the like.

Though so many Jewish leaders are worried about our future, our past suggests that we will be just fine. Our well-being as a people is not about numbers, and it never has been. Devotion, not distribution, has always been our hallmark, and greatest strength, as a people.

Two thousand years ago, in the small village of Yavneh, a group of rabbis boldly transformed the Temple-based religion they had inherited into the Judaism we observe today--and they did it without being paralyzed by the trauma of the Roman siege and sack of Jerusalem. While a tiny and, at times, oppressed minority of the general population, the Jews of Muslim Spain generated a Golden Age during which some of our most important and innovative Jewish thinkers, mystics, and poets emerged and influenced medieval society for generations. And in the face of poverty and pogroms, Jews in Eastern Europe created the spiritual and joyous Hasidic movement, a movement that was led by a small band of itinerant preachers and teachers.

Size doesn't matter. What matters is creativity, courage, and commitment. Our national and communal narrative should not be one of fear and crisis, but of triumph and redemption.

What best defines us as a community of faith has always been qualitative rather than quantitative. Jews have encountered many obstacles over the centuries, and we have always surmounted them, through a balance of fidelity and innovation. To take a seasonal example (associated with the celebratory and miraculous festival of Chanukah), Judah Maccabi and his band of brothers--a miniscule guerilla force compared to the mighty Hellenist army--defeated their occupiers and rededicated the Temple in Jerusalem because of their imaginative, unconventional tactics, as well as their fierce determination.

That is the real miracle we should reflect on at this time of year, and a central message of our history -- the fact that we can evolve as a people and a religion, not in spite of our challenges, but often because of them.

The Terrors of Transition (Huffington Post)

In the Torah portion Shelach, the Israelites stand at the threshold of the Promised Land, the land of Canaan. Uncertain about what they will find there, scouts are sent ahead -- one from each of the twelve tribes -- to reconnoiter the terrain and assess its inhabitants.

It is a point of great transition in the community's life, and great leadership is required.

When the scouts return 40 days later, they offer a conflicting report about the situation. On one hand, they affirm that Canaan is a place of abundance, a land that is indeed flowing with milk and honey. On the other hand, they claim that the people who live there are fierce and powerful, and that the cities are very large and well fortified. The scouts continue: "The country that we traversed and scouted is one that devours its settlers. All the people that we saw in it are men of great size; we saw the Nephilim there... and we looked like grasshoppers to ourselves, and so we must have looked to them." (Numbers 13: 32-33).

Due to their fear and anxiety about entering this unknown land, the scouts' account of Canaan and its inhabitants seems overly dramatic. They anthropomorphize the land and transform it into a frightening place that "devours" its own people; they also claim to have witnessed the Nephilim (a mysterious, mythic race of giant beings first referenced in Genesis 6:4).

While the scouts' report seems to be a mix of fact and fiction, the reaction of the Israelites is swift and, based on their previous behavior throughout their journey in the Sinai wilderness, predictable:

The whole community broke into loud cries, and the people wept that night. All the Israelites railed against Moses and Aaron. "If only we had died in the land of Egypt," the whole community shouted at them, "or if only we might die in this wilderness! Why is the Lord taking us to that land to fall by the sword? Our wives and children will be carried off! It would be better for us to go back to Egypt!" And they said to one another, "Let us appoint a captain and return to Egypt" (Numbers 14:1-4).

To a person, all the members of the Israelite community would rather return to the bondage of Egypt than face an unknown future in, and represented by, the land of Canaan. As punishment for their ingratitude and rebelliousness, God decrees that everyone in the current generation twenty years of age and older (with the exceptions of Caleb and Joshua, who try to exhort their people onward) will die in the desert before reaching the Promised Land. After forty years of wandering, the older generation does die, and the younger one, led by Joshua, finally enters Canaan and initiates the next chapter in the life of the Jewish people.

What does this Torah portion teach us about how community changes and evolves?

When we stand at the threshold of something new and unfamiliar, as the Israelites did at the start of this story, there are often many questions that arise in us. What will we find on the other side? Will there be challenges ahead? If so, how will we surmount them? If the challenges are great, might it be a better course of action not to venture forth at all, but to retreat and return to the place from which we began our journey? These questions can be crippling.

Our fears and anxieties about the future can distort our perceptions and affect our attitudes and actions. Our terror over transitions can paralyze us, leaving us frozen in place rather than boldly marching forward toward new possibilities. Or it can cause us to make poor choices, to backpedal, to recoil from fearsome "giants" instead of embracing the adventure of the unknown.

In this biblical tale, the old generation of leaders must die off so that the new generation can move ahead. The Israelites needed to move beyond the timidity and fear of the slave mentality that was so much a part of its "establishment" mindset before it was ready to enter a world of fresh and challenging realities. Their nomadic existence had to give way to a more settled and secure way of life. Their leaders needed to be brash, bold, and fearless, unencumbered by the dark memories and constricting baggage of Egypt.

We are in a period of transition today not dissimilar from the one experienced by our post-Egypt forbears. For the old guard that came of age in the shadow of the Holocaust, steeped in concerns and fears about anti-Semitism and annihilation, the transition is terrifying. Their focus is often on the past, on "continuity," on battling the forces of assimilation and intermarriage, rather than embracing the future. But for younger Jews, and especially for the next generation of Jewish leaders, the current transition is exciting and filled with possibility. Their focus is on discontinuity, on new and disruptive models for Jewish life, practice, and community.

As a Gen Xer, I represent a generation in between the old guard and the millennials. I have tried, along with others in my demographic, to bring about change in the Jewish community. Will our efforts succeed? What will the Jewish future look like? It is too early to know. But one thing is certain: there is no future in looking backwards to an idealized past. Instead, we must move forward and engage, boldly and resolutely, with what lies ahead.

Who Needs Foreskin, Anyway?

I just watched some weirdo from the Bay Area debate Rabbi Shmuley Boteach on CNN about the issue of circumcision.

While I am on his side, Shmuley is all wrong.

It is precisely in its primitivity, the tribal character of the brit ritual--with all its blood, pain, and mystery--that the power (and hence the validity and relevance) of circumcision lies.  The "hygiene" or "medical" argument is not the path to take; rather, a defense of circumcision should rely on what it has always relied on--namely, ....

Is the American Dream Dead?

The Occupy Wall Street action in New York has taken root now and expanded into cities throughout the country, expressing itself in sit-ins, marches, blogs, and media coverage. Men and women, young and old, black and white--what unites these many and varied regions, and cohorts, is a single emotion: rage.

Likewise, the national orgy of mourning over the death of Steve Jobs--expressed through makeshift shrines in front of Apple stores from Michigan Avenue to Soho--was united by a different but related solitary emotion: despair.

Rage and despair--these seem to be the two dominant feelings coursing through the veins of today's America. People are pissed and despondent. The "system" that seemed to work pretty well for our parents and grandparents ain't working so well for us. The promise of the American Dream--embodied by a visionary and billionaire like Jobs--has withered and atrophied.

Deep down, are we angry at financial institutions or, rather, the nature of our daily lives? Are people really mourning Jobs or, instead, the death of a dream?

Time will let us know. For now, I'll continue to dream. And I'll pray that I'm not just sleeping.

Go West, Young Man!

Horace Greeley, the influential nineteenth-century newspaper editor and political reformer, made the phrase above known to millions of Americans--and it remains known to us today.  By many accounts, he wrote it largely in connection with the copper rush to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan (an area west of the bustling northeast corridor where Greeley lived and worked).  I think of these famous words today because I leave for the UP in a few hours, partly to lead a retreat, and partly to spend some time alone kayaking, hiking, and horseback riding.

What is it about "Going West" that holds so much appeal?

Greeley's full quote is as follows: "Washington is not a place to live in. The rents are high, the food is bad, the dust is disgusting and the morals are deplorable. Go West, young man, go West and grow up with the country."

If we treat "Washington" as a metaphor for urban life, then the impulse to go west becomes much more understandable. And, in over nearly two centuries, it is just as relevant.

Many of us crave a simplicity and serenity that is virtually impossible to achieve in the modern city. We're too busy trying to make money to pay our rents or mortgages to focus on character, let alone community; we're too wired in to electronic gadgets to be self-aware; we're too preoccupied with our narrow social orbits to feel linked to nature, with its awe-inspiring beauty and mind-blowing vastness.

Yoga doesn't cut it for me. Give me mountains, trees, and lakes any day. Give me the West. Get me the hell out of here so that I can feel truly alive.

People Are Pissed

Not every expression of outrage is equivalent, but there is plenty of anger fueling the souls of men and women around the world. From the streets of London, Hama, and Tel Aviv; to the floors of Congress and Wall Street; to households and board rooms from the United States to Greece, Italy, and elsewhere--people are pissed.

Some of these expressions of anger are motivated by a deep, indignant desire to change corrupt governments, institutions, and societies; others are simply base and destructive criminal outbursts.  Yet the question remains: Why all this anger?

In his studies of animals, Konrad Lorenz wrote not only about the famous "flight or fight" response (when an animal is confronted by an adversary or opponent); he also described the link between frustration and aggression (when an animal is faced with adversity or challenge). Today, we human animals are acting out in very similar ways.

People the world over are frustrated and enraged by the geo-political and economic uncertainties all around us; by the horrific challenges of war, poverty, hunger, and changing climates; by new technologies that promise salvation but (too often) add only more confusion and complexity to our lives. The center is not holding. We are being tossed, turned, and tormented by a new world order that we don't fully fathom because it is still going through its own birth pangs. And we are not happy about it.

Welcome to the new millennium. Stick close to your family and friends, because it's going to be one hell of a ride.

Murdoch Mania & the Media

The ripple effect from the hacking and bribing scandals connected to Rupert Murdoch's media empire continues to spread across continents. It has led to public apologies, arrests, resignations, and today even a suicide. More negative and damaging fallout is a mathematical certainty.

But there's a deeper story here. This unfolding, almost epic narrative is about more than the dangers that can occur when one person or corporation becomes too powerful. It is about more than hubris, corruption, and intimidation. It is about the role, and excessive impact and influence, of media--in all of its outlets and forms--in our world.

There is much excitement still about the enormous growth of "social" media, even as the "traditional" forms of media (newspapers, magazines, books) are in a state eclipse. What is so enticing? Information is not knowledge. Yet, like fast food, we can quickly swallow sound-bytes and passively digest data: emotional outpourings from hacked phones, lurid posts on Twitter, and gaffes from politicians are far sexier to most of us than serious debate and discourse on the issues that actually affect our societies.

So turn off your iPad for the day. Ignore Facebook for a few hours. Let the talking heads on CNN and Fox blabber on to themselves about the Casey Anthony trial.

They need you more than you need them.