When have I ever tried to stop you from practicing Judaism in your way?
Is my existence so unacceptable to you that you would deny my humanity?
My relatives who may come closer to your practice do not call me darkness.
They may think I am a bit misguided, but they accept me as a person and a member of the family.
And they even listen to my music that features Hebrew and English.
What is dark about me?
I believe I know.
You are afraid of the darkness that has another name.
Doubt.
Doubt might lead you to think there is another way to practice your tradition, but, of course, you can’t believe that, because you might believe that the entire structure and edifice of your religious life would come tumbling down if you acknowledge that I might be carrying on our heritage in some way, that God might be hearing my prayers, and that my practice of Jewish tenets might have value.
“Love your neighbor as yourself,” practiced broadly, is not darkness.
“All are created in the divine image,” applied to all people, is not darkness.
“Love the stranger because you were strangers in Egypt” is not darkness.
And prayer that include brings all people together in one space, with no separation, no mechitzah, is not darkness.
If you are going to say that ways of believing that you oppose are “darkness,” then please explain the light that you bring, and please tell me how a God who, the Talmud says, prays that the divine attribute of mercy will override the attribute of strict justice, would not find light in every human being seeking to sincerely treat other human beings, all creatures, and the world, with dignity.
Where do you, Mr. human judge of darkness, find light?
Rejoice in the Eternal One, O doers of justice!
To those who are upright, praise is becoming.
Pluck a thankful song to God on your lyre,
Let your ten-string sing out to the Eternal One!
Sing a song to God so it will sound brand new.
Play sweetly with shouts of joy!
For the word of the Eternal One is upright
All Your deeds reveal Your faithfulness.
You love righteousness and justice.
Your love and care fill all the earth.
(Psalm 33:1-5)
What if
There are people who say they are upright
Who seek to subvert human decency?
What if there are individuals charged with justice
Who allow for bigotry, hatred and prejudice to thrive?
What if there are leaders who proclaim that they are righteous
All the while drawing a circle of acceptance and salvation
That promotes exclusion and intolerance
Asserting that their attitudes and policies that lead to oppression
spring from their self-claimed correct understanding of holy texts
Which they would seek to impose on others?
Do they sing a thankful song
when they seek to deny respect to fellow human beings?
Do they believe that God is on their side
So that their declarations of triumph can be considered
To constitute praise of their Creator?
Do they rejoice in their judgments that deprive individuals of rights previously granted?
There are other doers of justice who continue to stand for
Equality and opportunity
There are promoters of love and care who offer support and hope.
There are those who measure righteousness
Based on kindness and empathy bestowed
That bring comfort and contentment
So that people who benefit from that right action
will know light in the face of darkness.
The depth of the moral night that seems, at times, overwhelming, Has the potential to prevent the righteous
from finding the words and the melody
That could fashion a new song of joy
And infuse it into the world.
May the One who looks down on this earth
A beautiful blue oasis in the blackness of space
Send into the universe
The lyrics and the tune
That will warm our hearts
And sustain us in our search for sweet moments
Amid the miracles of our lives.
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Translation:
After Rabbi Richard Levy’s Songs Ascending: The Book of Psalms, A New Translation, CCAR Press, 2017; and Tanakh: The Holy Scriptures: The New Jewish Publication Society translation according to the traditional Hebrew text; JPS, 1985).
There were times when I could speak my mind and openly express my viewpoint, based on the values of my heritage.
There were other times when those statements were seen as political rather than ethical, partisan instead of promoting respect and decency.
At this time of my life, my words can be less constrained and more in keeping with the principles I have learned throughout my life.
As much as possible, I hope to be, without restriction,
A proponent for equality.
An advocate for justice.
A pursuer of peace.
A defender of the truth while combating the current conspiracy theories that are hardly different than those that consigned my ancestors to oppression and, perhaps, even death.
A protector of freedom of thought, expression, creativity, and full participation by all citizens in public life, including voting and assuming positions of leadership, where that freedom is based on mutual respect rather than on sowing division and seeking unbridled power.
A champion of understanding among people of different faiths, heritages, and backgrounds, so that fostering some semblance of unity will not be a pipe dream.
A seeker of holiness in the human community through music, meditation, study and conversation.
A sustainer of life on many levels, including the perpetuation of a natural environment that will endure for the benefit of the generations to come.
A teacher of the tenets that have guided me, and a learner from others of the lessons in the unfolding of their life stories.
A singer and creator of songs that exude joy, spirit, optimism and deep meaning.
A human being who will continue to recognize and celebrate the Oneness that binds us all together within this amazing universe, encompassing all of us with love.
On two Tuesdays in October, Temple Beth-El sponsored candidate forums for several local and statewide races. At each of these events, I offered a brief introduction based on insights from Jewish tradition.
At the first forum, I quoted from the prayer for our country in the prayer book of Conservative Judaism, Siddur Lev Shalem: “Our God and God of our ancestors ... RABBI KAROL Seeking Harmony may each of us fulfill our responsibilities of citizenship with care, generosity, and gratitude … May our … elected leaders … exercise their responsibilities with wisdom, fairness, and justice for all. Fill them with love and kindness and bless them that they may walk with integrity on the paths of peace and righteousness.”
At the second forum, I turned to Exodus Chapter 18. In that passage, Moses’ father-in -law, Jethro, encouraged his son-in-law to appoint deputies to help him lead the people and to serve as judges when disputes arose. Jethro suggested that these potential leaders be capable, trustworthy, and honest (spurning ill-gotten gain), and that they do right by God and by their fellow community members. I also shared insights from Leadership in Turbulent Times, a new book by Doris Kearns Goodwin, in which she chronicled the lives of four American Presidents: Abraham Lincoln, Theodore Roosevelt, Franklin Roosevelt, and Lyndon Johnson. Goodwin traced their development as leaders, describing, in detail, the traits they nurtured early on that stood them in good stead throughout their lives and careers. Early in his time in public life, Abraham Lincoln revealed “a number of traits associated with leadership – ambition, motivation, resoluteness, language skills, storytelling gifts, sociability.” He was also known for his adept use of humor. In one case, when his oratory led him to hurtfully mimic an opponent during a campaign event, Lincoln realized he had gone too far. He apologized, and Goodwin explained, “For years afterward, the memory of that night filled Lincoln ‘with the deepest chagrin.’ Increasingly, though not always, he was able to rein in his impulse to throw a hurtful counterpunch. He was after something more significant than the gratification of an artfully delivered humiliation.”
Theodore Roosevelt demonstrated, at the beginning of his political career, “a remarkable willpower, intellectual vitality, irrepressible liveliness, wide-ranging interests, and a growing gratification connecting with people from different backgrounds and stations in life.” He moved from, at first, focusing only on his views and opinions to realizing the benefits of collaborating with many legislative partners.
Franklin Roosevelt was bright and optimistic from his youth. He had a keen ability to look at a problem or challenge and work through its issues to arrive at a solution. His personality and temperament led him to connect with people in ways that drew them to him. Over the years, he learned the value of cooperation and humility.
Doris Kearns Goodwin recounted how Lyndon Johnson, as principal of an elementary school (during a year-long break from college) in Cotulla, Texas, “employed every leadership attribute he already possessed – indefatigable energy, ability to persuade, willingness to fight for what he wanted, intuition, enterprise, and initiative - to enlarge opportunities for his students and to improve their lives.” It was, according to Goodwin, empathy that drove Johnson’s work with the students and their families. At most any time, it is important to consider the essential traits that we want to see in ourselves and in the leaders we choose. May we always make our decisions related to leadership with understanding and wisdom.
I passed by the flowers, the signs, and the memorials near the Walmart in El Paso twice during the month of August.
The first time, on August 6, there were reporters, satellite dishes with mobile remote vans, chaplains, and people silently praying. There was a woman who was holding a sign that read, “Free Hugs.” I went up to her and said that her sign might be the most important one there.
We may not realize how much expressions of love and concern, including hugs, beginning with the earliest days in our lives, can enable us to build positive relationships and lead us to reject hatred and violence.
On August 3, in El Paso, Texas, and early on August 4, in Dayton, Ohio, two very different individuals, harboring a desire to commit violence, did not see human beings in front of them. They cared nothing for the people whose lives they abruptly ended.
El Paso and Dayton community members are moving forward while engaging in acts of remembrance and resolve.
People from Las Cruces joined their El Paso neighbors in a vigil held on the night of August 4 at Ponder Park. The City of Las Cruces organized a local gathering on August 5. About 60 people joined us at Temple Beth-El for a spiritual response and memorial service on August 7.
I joined my fellow Jewish singer/songwriter Alison Westermann in providing music at an event at the Las Americas Immigrant Advocacy Center on August 4. Manuel and Patricia Oliver, parents of Joaquin Oliver, one of the victims of the shooting at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida, had already planned to visit El Paso so that Manuel could create a mural on the outside of the Center’s building. Participants in a nearby vigil in El Paso (to remember the shooting victims) marched in silence to the Las Americas Center for the mural dedication. Manuel Oliver finished his work with the words “El Paso No Esta Solo.”
Nor are we alone. When I again visited the memorial near the Walmart on August 22, I saw many signs that bore messages which encourage us to connect with one another to offer support and hope:
Love still lives here
We are the future and the future is full of love. Sincerely, the Youth of El Paso
We will push back against boundless hate, and rebuild ourselves with boundless love.
We are El Paso: White, Black, Mexican, Asian...Color doesn’t matter, Religion doesn’t matter. We love! We are united! We are together! We are family! We are one!
Hate has no place! We will never forget!
Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that. (Martin Luther King, Jr.) I choose love!
The Lord is close to the broken-hearted. He rescues those whose spirits are crushed (Psalm 34:18)
Believe there is good in the world.
Where there is hate, let us find love; where there is injury, let us find healing; where there is despair, let us find hope; where there is darkness, let us find light; where there is discord, let us find unity. (Based on a prayer of St. Francis of Assisi)
And if I were to add a sign of my own, I would say: “May we remove the borders and walls around our hearts so that we will walk, side-by-side, towards a place of true peace, soon, in our time.”
Article in LAS CRUCES BULLETIN (our local weekly) ... 10/21/2016
Be careful because you cannot take back hurtful words
A Jewish folktale, set in 19th century Eastern Europe, tells of a man who went through a small community slandering the local rabbi. One day, feeling suddenly remorseful, he begged the rabbi for forgiveness and offered to undergo any form of penance to make amends.
The rabbi told him to take a feather pillow from his home, cut it open, scatter the feathers to the wind. The man did as he was told and returned to the rabbi.
He asked, “Am I now forgiven?”
“Almost,” came the rabbi’s response. “You just have to perform one last task: Go and gather all the feathers.”
“But that’s impossible,” the man protested, “for the wind has already scattered them.”
“Precisely,” the rabbi answered.
Rabbi Joseph Telushkin cited this classic story in his book “Words That Hurt, Words That Heal.” More than 20 years ago, Telushkin took his campaign to encourage appropriate speech to the greater community.
There was good reason for such a campaign then and now.
Technology spreads our words quickly. It is next to impossible to “go gather all the feathers,” that is, to take back any misleading or inaccurate statements we may have made.
I have heard people say recently, “Well, those were only words, not actions, so it doesn’t matter.”
Rabbi Telushkin’s point in writing a book about speech was that words DO matter.
Jews around the world observed the Day of Atonement, Yom Kippur, on the evenings of Oct. 11 and 12.
On that day, Jews fasted and recited prayers of confession during worship. In those meditations on misguided human action, statements about speech are pervasive. One prayer admits that we, as members of humanity, cause harm through our words, make insincere promises, lie, engage in offensive speech, engage in gossip (share true information when we don’t need to) and spread rumors (which are often unconfirmed).
Reciting those words on Yom Kippur this year reminded me of Rabbi Telushkin’s efforts to take our “ethics of speech” in a more positive direction.
In 1995, he pushed for a national “Speak No Evil” day that was embodied in a United States Senate Resolution. That declaration called on Americans to eliminate all hurtful and unfair talk for 24 hours for one day a year; to transmit negative information only when necessary; to monitor and regulate how they speak to others; to strive to keep anger under control; to argue fairly, and not allow disputes to degenerate into namecalling or other forms of verbal abuse; and to speak about others with the same kindness and fairness that they wish others to exercise when speaking about them. In his book on speech, Rabbi Telushkin added that we should try to focus conversations about people on their good qualities, not on their flaws, and that we should try to give criticism in private, using reassuring and non-threatening words. He cited the important teaching that embarrassing another person in public iscruel and inadvisable.
Do these goals for what we say (and do) sound impossible to achieve?
Perhaps, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try to keep our words positive and constructive.
If we are careful with what we say, we will, unlike the man in the story, have no need to gather “scattered feathers” or to lament our inability to take back words we wished we hadn’t shared.
Rabbi Larry Karol has been with Temple Beth-El in Las Cruces since 2011.
Such was one response, at my recent 50th high school reunion, to my summary of my rabbinic career.
Yes, I did.
More correctly, we did.
I have been ruminating a bit on the comment.
Likely, I have been perseverating on those words.
I have learned (it was from a Star Trek: The Next Generation episode, among other sources) that pulling on even one thread on your life’s tapestry, as it has come to be, can cause everything to unravel.
We make choices based on the opportunities set before us.
We work hard to make the best of those decisions, to create joyous moments, to foster friendships, and to extend our networks of personal connections.
Sometimes the path veers in a different direction because of circumstances beyond our control.
And so, we search for a new venue in which to serve and grow, and, if we are fortunate, we find one and continue our work.
Yes, we moved around a lot.
We met different types of people.
We touched the lives of community members of all ages in many places.
We met individuals who changed our lives in ways we did not expect.
We have lived near rivers, oceans, and deserts.
We have had a place to call home.
And many ties persist to people we have known all along the way.
Yes, we moved around a lot.
And we hope that moving, as this journey continues, even if we stay in one geographical location,
Will bring us new wisdom, health, hope and contentment.
Sermon and Song for Shabbat Shuvah/Sabbath of Return at The Temple, Congregation B’nai Jehudah on September 30, 2022
Text and Video
Many thanks to Rabbi Stephanie Kramer for this special opportunity to speak at my home congregation, and to Michelle Cox, TTCBJ music director, for adding her exquisite and special touches on keyboard to the song.
I don’t know about you, but in our home, I hear the word “perseverate” a
lot. My wife Rhonda tells me not to perseverate at least once a week, but probably more often than that. Unfortunately, I am really good at it.
So, for those of you whose inquiring minds want to know, perseverate means “to repeat or prolong an action, thought, or utterance after the stimulus that prompted it has ceased long ago.”
I believe that perseverating is human. It can, however, be a burden. Sometimes we do hold on way too long to our feelings and thoughts that resulted from something someone said or did to us, and we just can’t seem to let go.
If I had been asked to contribute to Mishkan Hanefesh, the new High Holy Day prayerbook of the Reform movement, the confessional prayers would have had this entry:
“We ask forgiveness for the ways we have wronged you, Eternal God, by perseverating over small or large matters in our lives, and for the harm we have caused by not healing ourselves through granting forgiveness to others.”
Every morning, I receive a daily email entitled “Inspiring Quotes,” which shares statements from a wide variety of sources. Paul Lewis Boese, who owned a Dairy Queen franchise in Newton, Kansas for many years, began writing down, some 60 years ago, his own pearls of wisdom in a special notebook he always kept nearby. He was a regular contributor to Quote Magazine in the 1960s. This insightful thought was one of his offerings from 1967: “Forgiveness does not change the past, but it does enlarge the future.” This explanation accompanied the quote in the email message: “When we are hurt, forgiving the people at fault can be incredibly difficult; we’re wired to keep defenses up to protect ourselves from more pain. But anger, resentment, and hatred are damaging emotions to hold onto, and a source of pain in themselves. Forgiving someone doesn’t have to mean reconciliation - it doesn’t change or condone the wrongs that were done - but it does help us let go of that negativity to make room to heal and move on. It ‘enlarges the future,’ as Paul Boese wrote in 1967. He reminds us that forgiveness isn’t an eraser; it’s a blank page, and a chance to write a happier future.”
When we recite the prayers of the High Holy Days, they are mostly stated in the plural. They say “We,” not “I.” We do need to begin the path to change within ourselves, but we are responsible as members of a community to help the people around us to be brave enough to enlarge their future, so that we will all find benefit, together.
In the summer of 2008, I was studying one of the Torah readings that described the pillar of cloud and the pillar of fire that accompanied the Israelites along their journeys in the wilderness on the way to the Promised Land. When the pillar would lift, the people would move forward, and when it came down to rest, the people stayed in one place. I began to wonder if we, in our own lives, have a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night that guides us. And, if we do, what form does it take?
Around that time in 2008, I had attended a session at a convention at which we discussed the themes of the High Holy Days: forgiveness, repentance, atonement, and change. We spoke about how we need to let go of the past in order to move forward, just as the Israelites forged ahead when the pillar of cloud and fire gave them the appropriate signal.
I believe that we too, have signals at our disposal, especially at this time of year, that can morally and spiritually set us on our way. The teachings of our tradition and the prayers of the High Holy Days can inspire us to offer mutual support to one another, to forgive, and to change.
Rhonda once found this quote on a Lipton tea bag: “Courage is the power to let go of the familiar.” It is so easy not to change, and we do, all too often, hold on to the past in ways that probably don’t serve our souls or our character very well. Granting forgiveness and addressing how we can grow as a result might be challenging, and even difficult, but those pursuits can create renewed space in our souls. It takes courage to answer the call to leave the familiar surroundings of our comfort zone, the place where some interpersonal conflicts may remain unresolved. It is that movement, that leaving, that can open up for us the possibility to truly enlarge our future.
From the intersection of these themes, the pillar of cloud and fire, and the signs we receive during the High Holy Days to step forward into positive personal growth, a song emerged for me during that summer of 2008. The long title is “Why do we hold on to what we should leave behind?” I wrote the lyrics in the form of a conversation with God, and also as a prayer. For me, these words sent a strong message not to perseverate. For all of us, they can remind us to find in the wisdom of our prayers and our heritage the pillars of confidence we need to move forward, both individually and as a community.
My first cousin Eileen Dunnell, who lived in Overland Park for the last 15 years, died in late August at the age of 94. Rhonda and I feel fortunate to have been able to visit with Eileen in person several times since our move to town last year and to speak with her on the phone from time to time. One of the family stories she told us teaches a crucial lesson about forgiveness which is fitting for this Shabbat Shuvah, this Sabbath of Return. My brother, Rabbi Steve Karol, included this anecdote in his book, EMBRACING THE SUPERNATURAL IN JUDAISM. Here is the story in Eileen’s words as told to me and to my brother:
“Sometime in the early 1960’s (note: it was 1961), your mother and I had a falling-out and did not speak for several months. I cannot remember the exact reason, but I think it might have been when Temple Beth El did not renew the rabbi’s contract, and your parents left Beth El and joined B’nai Jehudah. My family stayed at Beth El. After a while, I had a very vivid dream in which our grandmother Pearl, who had died in 1952, came to me and said that this ill will was very disturbing to her. The next day, I called your mother, and we resumed our close connection.”
I present this song “Why Do We Hold On” as a beacon for the year to come. Dreams that can lead to reconciliation, treasured teachings, and wise insights from many sources can serve as pillars of strength as we step forward on our own, and as we move ahead into this new year, as one community, side-by-side, always together.
Why do we hold on? (L. Karol)
Based on Psalm 25, High Holy Day Prayers and Parashat B’ha-alot’cha
I can see where You’re going, will You let me follow?
There hasn’t been a time when You’ve led me astray
Can I trust how You tell me not dwell upon the past
To look ahead without regret to make tomorrow a better day
to make tomorrow a better day
CHORUS:
Why do we hold on to what we should leave behind?
Why do we choose our pain
over peace that we could find?
Forgiveness can lift a broken soul
and ease a worried mind
Why do we hold on, hold on,
why do we hold on to what we should leave behind?
There are signs all around us telling us to stay
To rest inside the goodness that guides us on our way
There’s a fire that is burning, giving light when darkness falls
My D’var Torah today for the Community Service of Spiritual Renewal for the High Holy Days at Village Shalom in Overland Park. It was an honor to be asked to join, in leading the service, by Rabbi Jonathan Rudnick and Lezlie Zucker, who create services of renewal before Chanukah and Pesach as well. The song of which I spoke is below
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Just after the beginning of the war in Ukraine this past February, my cousin Bill called me to ask if I had heard the “prayer for peace.” He was referring to the prayer we just read, which is included in the Torah service section in the Rabbinical Assembly’s Siddur Sim Shalom and Siddur Lev Shalem. When this prayer was recited on the last Shabbat morning in February at Congregation Beth Shalom, it was noted that the prayer’s author, Rabbi Nathan Sternhartz, was born in Nemyriv, Ukraine, in 1780. While war and strife have touched Ukraine many times since Rabbi Nathan’s birth, his words have resonated deeply as we have watched from afar as the Russian army advanced into a nation that it continues to claim for itself.
My cousin suggested that I might consider setting Rabbi Nathan’s words to a melody. As I reviewed the prayer, one particular section caught my eye:
For all who live on earth shall realize
We have not come into being to hate or to destroy
We have come into being to praise, to labor and to love.
I began to wonder, along with Rabbi Nathan, why we have come into being, especially with war, conflict and division seemingly overwhelming our attempts to bring peace, healing and unity into our lives.
Every year, the High Holy Days offer us beacons of light that can guide us to respond every day to the question, “Why have we come into this world?”
Building on Rabbi Nathan’s prayer, I realized that I needed to articulate my own answers to that question. And so, I began to compose my response.
I believe that we have come into this world
To learn, to teach, to give
To grow, to seek, to live.
To console, to heal to share.
To praise, to build, to care.
Thus was born the song I am about to sing, “Into this world,” which includes my own personal prayer based on the original meditation of Rabbi Nathan:
“God of compassion, give us the courage
To work for the day when all people are free.
Let justice flow like a river.
Let peace fill the earth, as water fills the sea.”
While there is much that we can do together to add to this world more love, compassion and peace, our tradition teaches us that we must begin with ourselves.
We try every day to remain on the path to bring out the best in our souls to offer the world. The High Holy Days present us with an annual signpost to take stock of where we are on our personal journey. This season of the year provides us with an opportunity to make our own course corrections if we have strayed from who we truly want to be. This time of renewal and return also offers us a chance to affirm that we do, many times, share the best that is in us with the world. Our own contemplation, our prayers, our relationships with the people closest to us, and our connection with the divine can serve us as sources of confidence and inspiration.
One of the most meaningful statements in our tradition about how we must begin our approach to renewal with ourselves comes from Rabbi Israel Salanter, one of the founders of the Musar movement nearly 200 years ago. He once taught: “When I was a young man, I wanted to change the world. I found it was difficult to change the world, so I tried to change my nation. When I found I couldn't change the nation, I began to focus on my town. I discovered that I couldn't change my town, so, as an older man, I tried to change my family. And I wasn’t always able to influence them. Now, as an old man, I realize the only person I can change is myself. I now understand that if, long ago, I had changed myself, I could have made an impact on my family. My family and I could have made an impact on our town. Their impact could have changed the nation and we could indeed have changed the world.”
We should not take Rabbi Salanter’s reflection as a statement of regret, but as a declaration of resolve to begin our own path to renewal, and, then, to see each other as partners in bringing peace, justice and healing to the world.
During my Youth Group days at The Temple, Congregation B’nai Jehudah, half a century ago, we sang a song by Pete Seeger about how our partnership is crucial and necessary to improve our lives and to bring blessing to the human family. These words remind us to work together now, and throughout every year.
Here is how I remember singing Pete Seeger’s lyrics:
One person’s hands can't bring a world of peace
Two people’s hands can't bring a world of peace
But if two and two and fifty make a million
Wе'll see that world come ‘round.
We'll see that world come ‘round.
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Lyrics:
Into this World
By Larry Karol
February 2022
Inspired by “Prayer for Peace” in the SIDDUR SIM SHALOM prayerbook
