Embracing Our Differences

  

The following is a sermon I gave at Saint Elisabeth’s Church in Glencoe, Illinois, on February 22.

Daphne and Ari

Rev. Daphne Cody, Rector of St. Elisabeth’s, left, with Rabbi Ari Moffic

Thank you for welcoming me so warmly into your community. What a blessing it has been to become involved with St. Elisabeth’s. I have spent my rabbinate these past eight years working with interfaith couples and families and those who grew up in interfaith homes. I spend time with grandparents who have grandchildren growing up in interfaith homes and with Jewish clergy and professionals who want to welcome those from interfaith homes to what we call “organized” Jewish life. What I mean by an interfaith family is a situation in which one parent grew up with Judaism and one didn’t. Sometimes these partners are raising Jewish children and have a Jewish home—don’t ask me what a Jewish home is—many Jews describe what having a Jewish home is differently. Sometimes these families have a parent who is Jew-ish…not a practicing anything else but hasn’t converted to Judaism. Sometimes these families have a parent who is a practicing and believing Christian or Hindu. In some of these families they want their children to be exposed to both faiths.

In the past 10 years, excluding Orthodox marriages, 72 percent of Jewish marriages have been interfaith. The majority of American Jews are partnered with someone not Jewish. There are more children growing up now with one Jewish parent than two. So, what does this all mean for the future of liberal Judaism? (Orthodox Judaism will remain, it seems—the question is non-Orthodox Judaism.) For the kind of Judaism I subscribe to?

A recent headline read “More Bad News, but a Glimmer of Hope: Last year’s survey of American Jews brought dire news—rising intermarriage, falling birthrates, dwindling congregations.”

Many in the Jewish world are scared. They are scared that young people won’t seek out congregations for their families. That they will privatize religion. That people don’t value Jewish community anymore. That adults who grew up with Judaism now affirm a universal ethics or morality and want their children to “be good people” and not specifically or distinguishably Jewish. Jews have been said to be the ever-dying people. Are we going to disappear into a generalized feel-good, do-good thing?

What about the mitzvot? The commandments? The specific way we live? Worship in Hebrew? Allegiance to Israel? A sense of Peoplehood? Of being part of the Tribe? Yiddish-isms? Judaism has been a religion of boundaries and distinctions and that has kept us a unique people, in some ways, for so many generations and generations. Now, in an open, global world, can Judaism be inclusive enough to allow participation by people who aren’t Jewish and still remain true to Jewish traditions?

I think that we need to promote both radical inclusion and diversity. Ironically, in order to perpetuate a culture that is unique, we need to remove almost all boundaries that define who is permitted to participate.

This is the tension of my work and of this sermon: perpetuating a unique culture that is still authentically Jewish and yet allowing for diversity and inclusion. And, this brings us to the biblical reading for today. Did God choose each people to fulfill their own unique destiny, their own unique way? Does each people have its own covenant with God?

What happens when we blur the lines that define religion and think about theology as metaphor and as nuance? When we compartmentalize different aspects of different faiths so that we can accommodate many traditions and ways in one intact psyche? Isn’t life more fluid nowadays with many things? Are we so separate and distinct? Each group with its own destiny?

When we see a rainbow in the sky is it a shared symbol of our partnership with God who promises never to destroy the world again? (God might not do it, but people seem to be doing a good job in this regard.)

We share these basic Noahide commandments of civil society. We share more than not. But, this holy time in both of our calendars, this time leading up to Passover and Easter sometimes highlights our theological differences.

In an article written on InterfaithFamily, writer Charlotte Honigman-Smith explains what Easter means to her: “Easter is the holiday that evokes in me the most ambivalence about my identity as a Jewish women with a Catholic father and extended family. Easter is harder (than Christmas) Edgier. More conflicted…I think that much of my reaction can be traced to the fact that Easter, for the Eastern European Jewish communities my mother’s grandparents came from, was a potentially deadly time…local violence broke out at Easter. Easter, for me, seems to represent the final break between Judaism and Christianity, the point at which the two belief systems parted ways forever. I find that I resent that a little. Perhaps, deep down, I think it would be easier if we all believed the same things.

But growing up in an interfaith family and a multicultural neighborhood taught me something about dealing with differences and cultural contradictions. It’s good to be able to share, and to find common ground; for me it has been a blessing to have two cultures to draw on. But I’ve learned to use this holiday as a reminder that we are not all alike, that some things have no common ground to be found, and that still, this does not mean that there can’t be love, respect, and mutual humanity. It’s important, though harder, to know that there are some differences, both in families and in the wider world, that have to be accepted and embraced without understanding…as matters of faith.”

We share the Noahide Covenant; we share the symbol of the rainbow. But there are other covenants made at other times that are meant for different peoples and different traditions. Later in the scroll, we read about the covenant given at Mt. Sinai. In his final appeal to the people of Israel, Moses reminds them that the covenant they are establishing with God will be valid for eternity. “I make this covenant with its sanctions, not with you alone, but both with those who are standing here with us this day before the Eternal our God and with those who are not with us here this day” (Deuteronomy 29:13-14).

There is a lot of commentary about who is not there that day. From an interfaith standpoint, I view this covenant as a covenant with anybody who would find themselves in a family with Jews. For any fellow-travelers. This can be an inclusive covenant because it included the then diverse people of Israel and it surely now encompasses a diverse group who (thank God) still think about it and struggle with it, and for whom these ancient laws and ways still have enduring truths so many thousands of years later.

The rabbis said that we should say 100 blessings a day and then spelled out specific blessings for various occasions that arose daily. When we see a rainbow, there is a special blessing that is said.

Barukh Ata Adonai, Eloheynu Melekh ha’Olam
zo’khair ha’brit, v’ne’eman biv’rito v’kayam b’ma’amaro.

Holy One of blessing, Your presence fills creation,
You remember your covenant with all who You created.

May each of us rise to perpetuate the unique traditions and religiosity we have inherited or hold true today. As well, may we know that there are some differences, both in families and in the wider world, that have to be accepted and embraced, and that is good too.

Kayn Yihi Ratzon, May this be God’s Will

Amen.

Come Together Through Food (Passover Food, That Is)

  

The following is a guest blog post by Rabbi Evan Moffic, who is not a member of our staff but his wife, Rabbi Ari Moffic (Director of IFF/Chicago) is!

Win a copy of Rabbi Evan Moffic’s new book, What Every Christian Needs to Know About Passover!

Evan Moffic's Passover book coverNothing brings people together like food. It is no accident, then, that among the most popular holiday for interfaith families is Passover. It is not only popular because it features prodigious amounts of food. It is popular—and meaningful—because of the spiritual message it conveys. This message matters for Christians and Jews. And it’s a message that can bring interfaith families closer together.

I believe so powerfully in this message that I wrote a book about it this year. The book was published by Abington Press, and it has spent several weeks as the top-selling book on Jewish holidays. Clearly, the Passover message resonates. Here’s why.

1. We are all searching for freedom: On Passover we recall the way God led the Israelites from slavery to freedom. We see the tools God gave them to rediscover that freedom in every generation by asking questions, praying, celebrating and retelling the story. As we do so, we shed light on the journey of our own lives. We ask ourselves where and how we might be enslaved. Are we enslaved to our possessions, our work, our addictions, our desire to please others?

2. We can all learn from one another: I passionately believe that religious and spiritual people can learn from traditions different from our own—perhaps especially from those traditions that are our next-door neighbor traditions, which is how I think of Judaism and Christianity. As a rabbi, I have found great inspiration in the description of love from Paul’s letter to the Corinthians. My own prayer life has been transformed by what I have learned from pastors and Christian writers. Quite often, I learn more about my own faith when I encounter it with new questions and concerns prompted by those who do not share it.

I believe the same growth can happen for Christians interested in deepening their own faith. Passover in particular holds spiritual invitations that can speak powerfully to Christians. Passover was observed by Jesus. It is a holiday centered around family, food and freedom. It is accessible and relevant to Christians of all denominations.

3. We can see ourselves in the story: In a recent class I asked members of my synagogue what the Exodus story meant to them. Did it affect their self- understanding? Could they see themselves in the story? All of them said yes. They frequently connected the Exodus with their family history. Many had grandparents and great-grandparents who emigrated from Europe to the United States. They fled poverty and persecution to build a better in life here. America was their Promised Land. Europe was their Egypt.

More recent Jewish immigrants echoed this message. Between 1967 and 1991, almost half of the entire Jewish population of the Soviet Union left for freedom to Israel, America and other Western countries. They saw their journey as an exodus from oppression to freedom.

In churches where I have led Passover seders, I’ve asked the same question. Some draw on their family history. More often, however, participants saw the Exodus in the context of their spiritual journeys. A participant who became a Christian later in life saw crossing the Red Sea as a symbol for baptism. He had fled the oppression of his past life for freedom as a believer and follower of Jesus. Some women saw the Exodus story as a paradigm for gaining freedom from the past and strengthening their role in the Church.

Regardless of who we are, Passover reminds us we can gain our freedom. We can become the person we are meant to be.

Evan Moffic is the Rabbi of Congregation Solel in Highland Park, IL, a community of 500 families on the North Shore of Chicago. He graduated from Stanford University in 2000 and was ordained by Hebrew Union College in 2006. He appears regularly on CNN and Fox News and writes for the Huffington Post, Beliefnet and his blog at www.rabbi.me. His first book, Words of Wisdom: From the Torah to Today, is a spiritual introduction to Judaism. His second book, What Every Christian Needs to Know About Passover, makes Passover come alive today for people of all faiths.