To Speak or Not to Speak
Listen
Read Full Sermon
Read more
Yet, nevertheless, we squirm. For a variety of reasons, we continue to wrestle with the question of just how assertive the American Jewish voice should be. You need only consider the primary mitzvah of the upcoming Hanukkah holiday, lighting the menorah, to understand the debate. We are commanded to light the menorah by a door or a window, in a visible place for both Jews and non-Jews to see. That said, both the Talmud and the Shulhan Arukh, the sixteenth-century code of Jewish law, explain that in certain times, when such public expressions of Judaism would be unwise or unsafe, one may place the menorah inside the home, away from the public view. By this telling, where we place the menorah signals a lot more than a technical aesthetic choice; it is a bellwether for our Jewish sense of self. Are we willing, both literally and figuratively, to put our Judaism “out there,” to have the light of our tradition shed outward, or do we restrict its radiance to our homes? The menorah placement is a litmus test for the question of just how assertive the Jewish community will or won’t be, and this year as much as any other raises the question anew.
It is a question that impacts not just the ADL and the AJC, but our own community. How shall we, Park Avenue Synagogue, think about political advocacy moving forward? How shall we speak out, and, when necessary, mobilize our community? To begin with, let me state clearly that we are a 501(c)3, and as such, according to the Internal Revenue Code, are “absolutely prohibited from directly or indirectly participating in, or intervening in, any political campaign on behalf of (or in opposition to) any candidate for elective public office.” Neither I, nor my colleagues, nor this institution as a whole, may engage in activities that would (a) favor one candidate over another; (b) oppose a candidate in some manner; or (c) have the effect of favoring a candidate or group of candidates. This ban on political campaign activity, however, according to the Internal Revenue Service “does not restrict leaders of organizations from expressing their views on political matters if they are speaking for themselves as individuals. Nor are leaders prohibited from speaking about important issues of public policy.” In other words, while endorsing or opposing a candidate is strictly verboten, to speak to the issues of the day is well within the purview of this pulpit and our programming efforts.
In my mind, however, the Internal Revenue Code is the least interesting part of the conversation. A synagogue or rabbi must be prudent on matters of political advocacy because as any student of our tradition knows, while our Jewish sources may speak to every issue of the day, they do not speak uniformly on any issue. It is intellectually indefensible for a preacher to claim that Judaism says “X” about any single topic, and it is altogether inadvisable for any Jew to claim to represent “what Judaism says” on any subject. Second, we should exercise caution before engaging in political advocacy because it has the potential to have divisive effects on our community. A synagogue is a place of community-building, often a refuge, and we must be careful of the sensibilities of all those who call Park Avenue Synagogue their spiritual home. Perhaps the most compelling reason for restraint on political advocacy is to be found not in the Internal Revenue Code, but in the mission statement of our synagogue, which, if you look at the Shabbat Shalom you were handed as you came in, states “Park Avenue Synagogue seeks to inspire, educate and support our membership towards living passion-filled Jewish lives.” The front line of this synagogue is every Jewish soul; our primary cause for advocacy is a shared and bright Jewish future. We must be insistent in seeking to fulfill our primary and differentiated and sacred mission. If we fail to produce educated and engaged Jews, then there is no ADL, AJC, or AIPAC. If we fail to create Jewish identity and continuity, then the question of what Jews and Judaism have to say about issue X, Y, or Z will cease to be relevant altogether.
There are many reasons to exercise caution before speaking out and acting on the issues of the day, and as your rabbi, I will continue to strive for prudence and wisdom as we do. But speak out we must. Notwithstanding our limitations, notwithstanding our primary mission as a generator of communal and individual Jewish identity, our synagogue must always seek to be responsive to the calling of the hour. The goal of any self-respecting religious organization, ours included, should be to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable. Ours must be an institutional embodiment of the prophet, a person, in the words of Heschel, who “speaks for those too weak to plead their own cause . . . a person who is not tolerant of wrongs done to others, who resents other people’s injuries and rebels against the evil of indifference.” (“The Religious Basis of Equality of Opportunity”) The evil of indifference is a sin that I will not carry. Yes, we will seek to educate our membership on the range of opinions on any particular issue, but we must never let the paralysis of analysis obstruct our prophetic calling. Of course our primary mission is to bring Jewish souls closer to our tradition, but we must also be mindful of American Jewry’s expectation that our tradition speaks to our contemporary condition. Of course our goal is to not be unnecessarily divisive, but the goal of respectful dialogue and institutional leadership is not across-the-board agreement. Do I expect you to agree with everything my colleagues and I say? Of course not. That is, after all, why God created a Kiddush after services. As Rabbi Israel Salanter taught “A rabbi whose community does not disagree with him is no rabbi. And a rabbi who fears his community is no man.” As I tell all my interns and assistant rabbis: “You are not really a rabbi until someone has walked out on one of your sermons.” The relationship between clergy and congregant and among congregants is sacred, and so is freedom of the pulpit. My job and the job of my colleagues is not to tell you how the world is, but how the world, by way of Jewish values, ought to be. With all of the qualifications and all the caution, let me state clearly my hope and expectation that this pulpit and this synagogue will not only challenge you, but prompt you to act on the issues of our time.
“The Lord is in this place and I did not know.” (Genesis 28:16) These words, spoken by Jacob at the beginning of our Torah reading, signal his discovery that God’s presence can be found even in the most unlikely places. God is invested in the question of environmental justice. God is invested in the question of gun control. God is invested in civil rights, in poverty, in healthcare, and in economic justice. Whether we knew it or not, God is present in all these places and many, many others. To be a child of Jacob, to be a descendent of the children of Israel, means to believe that our faith informs every precinct of our lives. With prudence, with wisdom, and most of all, with love for the full diversity of our community, let us find our voice in the public square, each one of us doing our part to pull down a piece of heaven – and the peace of heaven – upon us, Israel and all of humanity.