Why are we here? Kol Nidre 5772
Five hundred years ago, the Jews of Spain and Portugal gathered in secret to let God know that they were still Jews, fearful of an Inquisition determined to purge them from the Christian community.
At the same time, in places like the Ottoman empire, Jews openly sang Kol Nidre, because rather than convert, they had left their homes and lives, fortunes and all that was familiar, to continue to live as practicing Jews in a Muslim country.
Seventy years ago, with over a million Jews already dead before the implementation of Hitler’s Final Solution, Kol Nidre could not be sung in the synagogues of Europe, because they had been burned and shattered by the Nazis, but it was chanted quietly in concentration camps and work camps, starving Jews not abandoning their God even in their hour of devastation and despair.
Sixty-three years ago, Kol Nidre was sung in the few synagogues that existed in the newly free State of Israel, by survivors and pioneers who fought with whatever they had to reclaim the Jewish homeland.
And twenty-six years ago, we sang Kol Nidre in the Kirkwood Presbyterian Church on Carrleigh Parkway in Springfield, Virginia, as it poured rain and a handful of us dreamed of creating a Jewish place in the wilderness of Burke and its vicinity. Judy sang Kol Nidre for us, knowing that we were part of the largest movement of Jews in the world almost 1.5 million strong – Reform Jews with a proud heritage of creating a Judaism that could respond to modernity, social justice, women’s rights, and the need for our traditions to adapt, as well as any Judaism of our past.
The first question God asks in the Torah is Ayeka? Where are you? And tonight we answer, “I am here God. Count me in the great Jewish census on high.”
Why are we here? We are here to begin 25 hours of fasting, praying, confessing, reflecting, study, introspection, and connection as ordained in the Torah thousands of years ago for our spiritual well-being and our communal solidarity. We are here to reenact an age-old ritual that never gets old or loses its power. We are here at the conclusion of ten days of repentance to recite Kol Nidre, as Jews have been doing for centuries.
Perhaps you respond to my question, Why are we here? with —
How could we not be here?
How could we not support the Jewish community?
How could we not mark 5772 years of faith, tradition, and history?
How could we not preserve the Torah, Jewish values, customs, and beliefs that have enabled us to survive centuries of oppression, so that we can be free Jews in a free country?
How could we not be here on this Shabbat Yom Kippur, the holiest night of the Jewish year?
As our new temple stationery states: We are here because it is a blessing to belong. That may mean different things for each one of us – for some it is a personal blessing to be a part of this congregation, and for others the blessing comes from knowing that there would be no Kol Nidre, no synagogue, no rabbi, or Torah, or soloist if you didn’t make sure we were all here for this holiest night of the Jewish year.
We are here, because mortal and vulnerable, fallible and flawed; we seek atonement and forgiveness, a clean slate, a new year, a fresh start, a renewed lease on life.
We are here, because we are Jews, or we live in a community of Jews, or we love a Jew, or we somehow feel connected to this Jewish moment.
We are here, because if we stop coming, Judaism will die.
This summer we visited the Rhodes synagogue, and the ones in Corfu and Dubrovnik. Only open on High Holy days with a rabbi from Israel, these communities are shadows of their former selves. Those few who remain light up at the sight of a visitor, hunger to tell their story, yearn to remember the legacy now just part of the Jewish past.
When we entered the synagogue in Rhodes, we were greeted by Sammy Modiano, an old man with a bright smile. He sits each day welcoming tourists and telling his story. He is a Holocaust survivor, the last remaining voice of the darkest time in Rhodes history. The endless list of names of the dead outside the little museum testifies to the demise of this precious Jewish quarter of this medieval city.
Sammy doesn’t speak much English, but as we were leaving, he said to us words I shall never forget:
“We have no minyan. We are done. But, tell our history. We are done, but our history lives on.” Imagine surviving the Holocaust to return to see your synagogue and community reduced to five families and a museum. “We are done. Tell our story.” I promised him I would.
Tonight, there are sociologists and scholars saying Kaddish for our Judaism, which according to recent and troubling studies may not survive another century, let alone another millennium, if we do not do something to save it. I am here tonight to pray to God that I, or one of you, will not have to sit in our lobby and tell tourists, “We are done. Tell our story.”
In his book, The Vanishing American Jew, written over a decade ago, the controversial secular Jew and Harvard law professor, Alan Dershowitz writes, “Jews have faced dangers in the past, but this time we may be unprepared to confront the newest threat to our survival as a people, because its principal cause is our own success as individuals.” We are not at risk because we are threatened by outsiders. We are at risk because insiders have stopped caring, supporting, observing, and preserving.” (p.2)
Tonight, the Jewish community is in peril, but not from external forces that want to destroy us. On the contrary, more Americans poll favorable opinions of Jews today than ever before. Anti-Semitism in America is at an all time low. Sadly, the demise of Judaism and the predictions for our bleak future are self-inflicted. We are down to about 850,000 affiliated Reform Jews now, with dire predictions that we could be 250,000 in the near future. Jews have gone from 4% of America’s population in 1937, to less than 2% today.
Why the decline? It is due to a number of factors:
- our declining birthrate and our aging community,
- the fact that 82% of those who intermarry don’t raise Jewish children, and the intermarriage rate is climbing
- the massive assimilation of the successful and young adults,
- the mobility of Jews to new places with different or non-existent Jewish infrastructures,
- a decline in conversion to Judaism, because it is no longer necessary to convert to raise Jewish children or be accepted in Jewish life,
- the failure of the millions of American Israelis and former Soviet Jews to connect meaningfully with Judaism as a religion,
- a growing number of 20- and 30-somethings who haven’t found what they are looking for in our synagogues,
- and the failure of many Jews to feel an obligation to support the institutions that keep Judaism alive, when they personally are not in need of religious schools, services or funerals.
If left unchecked, the end to Judaism as we know it, in the next 75 years, is a certainty. The tragedy seems to be that liberal Judaism’s successes may have been our demise.
The recent Spring 2011CCAR Reform Jewish Quarterly has a series of articles by rabbis, demographers, social scientists, and scholars sounding the death knell for our Jewish future.
Numerous think tanks and task forces, many by our own Reform Movement, are exploring the dire predictions for Jewish survival, based upon the most recent polls and surveys. It seems that there is troubling new data on the implications our liberal Jewish choices have had on our community. Allowing each Jew to have autonomy and choose his or her own path has placed us facing consequences we couldn’t have envisioned when I was a young rabbi in Reform Judaism’s heyday.
Some of my predictions in those early years have come true. The Conservative movement will probably not survive another fifty years, and Reconstructionist Judaism is breathing its last breath, for a host of reasons that are well documented and tragic. Most studies show that Reform Judaism will be one of the last movements standing, as will Orthodox Judaism, but we will be in the words of Rabbi Dr. Lance Sussman, “smaller, weaker, and less confident.”
Reform Judaism has to face its own difficult realities. We opened our doors through Outreach in the late 1970’s in hopes that intermarried families would find a home under a Jewish umbrella, but we have not benefited from our stance on intermarriage according to recent studies. Less than 18% of children of intermarriages are being raised exclusively as Jews, and of those first generation children, the likelihood that any of them will have Jewish grandchildren is virtually nil.
Every credible study now proves what I said years ago: whether a Jew continues to live as a Jew, be a part of a Jewish community, and raise a Jewish family has everything to do with the Jewish partner’s commitment to leading a Jewish life and raising Jewish children, and little or nothing to do with whether or not a rabbi officiates at the wedding.
But, I am not as pessimistic as many demographers on the issue of intermarriage, because I am the eye witness to the passionate 18% of Jews who do care, and are doing more than many Jews to keep Judaism alive for themselves and their families.
I marvel at the number of children from interfaith families who continue on after Bar and Bat Mitzvah to Confirmation and Post-Confirmation, and who make Judaism an important factor in choosing a college and future life partner.
I applaud every family in our community, and in other communities, who is making Jewish choices not just so there will be a Jewish future, but because Judaism is the meaningful way they want to carry out their lives.
Before my sabbatical, I had many sleepless nights about the sorry state of the Jewish future, and I felt personally responsible for all of the decisions individual Jews were making to contribute to our demise.
From the ultra-Orthodox creating restrictions on women that rival the Taliban, and have no basis in Jewish history, to the unaffiliated and secular Jews who want to purchase Judaism as needed for a fee, often from rent-a-rabbis, with no thought of the consequences their actions have on the long term survival of our faith or our future. I felt the weight of their choices on my shoulders. I still do, but I have stopped losing sleep about things I cannot control or change.
I have returned from my sabbatical with a more realistic view of what I can personally do. I cannot be responsible for the entire Jewish future. I have scaled back my goal to be more realistic about what one rabbi can do to stem the tide of Jewish disappearance, even in our own congregation. Studies show that the four years after Bar Mitzvah and the four years in college are THE critical determinant of living as a lifelong Jew. Our investment of time in our teens is well placed. But, an alarming number of parents are failing to partner with the synagogue in raising Jewish children and teens as life-long educated Jews.
We have given our community the very best Jewish education money can buy and still some families abandon the Jewish choice for reasons that I cannot condone, but will no longer fight.
But, my wonderful students and their love of God and Torah give me hope. I have to believe that they will be wiser, and that there is an answer to Jewish survival that has yet to be discovered in their brilliant hearts and minds. And I know that we must find a way to reenergize and appeal to the 20 and 30 somethings who have no children to send to Sunday school. They need to know how much we need them, and they need to feel that they need us, Judaism, the Jewish community.
We will gather 4,000 Reform Jews strong at the Biennial convention in Washington in December. We will convene the best, brightest, and most committed Jews to grapple with this issue, and to celebrate our current successes. Volunteer, join us, and bring your ideas to the table. We need to bring Jews back to Judaism, and we need to do whatever we can to welcome new Jews into this amazing faith and tradition. But, most of all we need to strengthen the Jews who already care and already belong. We need you.
Why are we here? In part, we are here to make a vow to do more to preserve this Judaism we hold sacred. We are here to make sure that there is a Jewish future for those of us who refuse to freeze Judaism in 17th century Poland and relegate women to baby making and second-class status. Although the baby making has been the smartest thing the ultra-Orthodox Jews have done in the past fifty years. We need more Jewish babies!
We are here, because of all the institutions ever created by Jews for Jews, there is only one that has been determined to be the survival mechanism of the Jewish people and that is the synagogue.
Study after study shows that the synagogue has been the single most adaptable place for the preservation and evolution of Jewish life over the millennia. It is the synagogue that has put forth vision in every generation, has been the leader of change as painful as it can be, and has navigated innovation as part of adaptation.
This summer, Gary and I went to the synagogues of Rhodes and Corfu and Dubrovnik to pay homage to the centuries of thriving Jewish life cut down by the ravages of Nazi hate – synagogues surviving in places where few Jews even remain. I believe that part of the solution for Jewish survival is right here in the synagogue. We just need to figure out what more we can do.
Some authors have already said Kaddish for the synagogue as we know it. I do not join them. The economic historian in me says that alternatives to the synagogue have no hopes of succeeding without a self-funding mechanism.
Many of the innovations and initiatives in recent years, including the very popular Birthright program sending young adults to Israel for free, are funded by the older generation, betting on engaging those for whom the cost of Judaism is put forth as an obstacle for being Jewish or caring about Israel.
Seed money for new Jewish communities and initiatives on the Birthright model would be a good start, but at some point it is up to each one of us to sustain and support our own Jewish life and community.
We are here, because supporting the Jewish community is not an optional activity, but a religious imperative.
We are here, because marking 5772 years of faith, tradition, values, and history matters.
We are here, because the Torah’s calendar, customs, and commandments are not to be discarded for anything, or anyone, or any reason.
We are here, because abandoning Judaism is not an option for us.
We are here, because at every juncture of life that is meaningful, from joys to sorrows, we still need our religion, and that is true for even the most secular Jews among us.
And we are here to be a voice for Israel in a world that prays for her destruction. And in the same breath, to be a voice for plurality in an Israel that still is plagued by the idea that the only true religion is extremist Orthodox Judaism. Israel has now surpassed the US in numbers of Jews, but if Judaism, the Judaism we know and love, is to survive, we must be committed to growing an Israeli version of Reform in Israel’s fertile soil with all of our heart, strength, and pocketbook.
The Jewish community leadership has to take some responsibility for this failure to thrive. We need to add value. With educated laity in the pews, Jewish answers available with a click and a Google search and college courses able to provide Jewish knowledge, rabbis and Jewish institutions need to up our game.
We rabbis need to be able to digest all the material out there in order to provide analysis of the current situation and vision for the future. We need rabbis who stand up for Israel and create a love for the land among our people.
We need rabbis who think deeply, preach passionately, and stand up for a Jewish future that is not based on the least common denominator and the path of least resistance. A Judaism without standards or backbone isn’t Judaism at all.
We need to make a compelling case, but at some point, Jews who want to be Jews have to live and contribute as Jews and make Jewish choices. With our values at our core and the Torah as our guide, we need to make Jewish choices all of the time, not just when it is convenient or suits our schedule. Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Chanukah, Passover are dates on a calendar that shouldn’t get moved for cruises or convenience. And Shabbat happens 52 weeks a year.
I want to believe that the future is not as bleak as the predictions of the scholars make it out to be. I vow on this Kol Nidre night to spend the rest of my life as a rabbi, and a philanthropist, doing all I can so that we will continue to be here.
I have never believed that the Jewish future depends on having huge buildings and budgets. It depends on your vows and mine to protect, defend, support, and uphold the commandments and values of the Torah we treasure without hesitation or reservation.
I believe we are here, because of the Jewish values we treasure:
L’dor Vador = “From generation to generation.” Our ancestors stood before God on this Kol Nidre night and we come here to stand in their shoes, and to reassure them that the tradition continues.
V’shenantam l’vanecha = “And you shall teach it to your children.” We are here because we bear personal responsibility to pass on the tradition of Judaism to our children, as many of our parents passed it on to us.
Yizkor = We are here to remember every Jew who sacrificed life and limb to practice and observe Torah and tradition, for every Jew who prayed in secret, and even died to sing the Kol Nidre on this Yom Kippur night.
Etz chayyim hi = We are here, because it (our Judaism and our Torah) is our tree of life. For a Jew, our lives and our mortality take center stage on Yom Kippur. No matter what the state of our health or the quality of our lives, the life force within us becomes more real and more alive as we hear the Kol Nidre sung. L’Chaim! To life!
Am Yisrael Chai = We are here, because we are the people of Israel, and the people of Israel live, as long as we are here.
We are here and we want to stay here, thrive here, survive here.
So what can we do?
- You– You need to live a Jewish life, love our traditions enough to preserve them, and belong to our synagogue and Jewish organizations, because without you they will die.
- Those you are close to – Speak up and make the need known to your children, for their sake and for the sake of your grandchildren. The sin of silence is a dangerous sin. Just as parents tell their children not to take drugs and we have learned that matters, so parents need to encourage Jewish life and Jewish practice from their children. Don’t be silent. Speak up or we die out.
- Someone you know– invite a friend or neighbor, encourage the unaffiliated to join, share the benefits and blessings of belonging with others.
- Someone you don’t know – support and sustain those Jewish causes, institutions, and programs that matter to you in every way you can – with time or money, heart and soul, here and in Israel. The Jewish people can’t survive without you. Imagine the poster “We Need YOU!”
Do what you can to eradicate apathy, silence, complacency, and surrender. Replace consumerism with responsibility, membership with partnership. Don’t wait for tragedy to hit for you to realize what you have. Make Judaism meaningful in your life as a start, and share that meaning with others.
There is a story in The Vanishing Jew that spoke to me:
A boy about to become a Bar Mitzvah wants to know why he is taking this step in his life. He asks his parents to explain to him, “Why, Why am I here getting ready for my Bar Mitzvah?”
His parents, a secular Jewish couple in their forties bring their 13-year-old son to each of his grandparents so he can ask the following question:
“What is the essence of Judaism?”
Grandpa Moishe, a rabbi from the old country immediately responds to his grandson, “God is the essence of Judaism. God’s Torah, God’s commandments, God choosing the Jewish people – that is the essence of Judaism.”
The Bar Mitzvah boy looks at his grandfather, puzzled and says: “Then my parents and I are not Jewish, because God and God’s commandments aren’t the center of our lives. We go to synagogue on the High Holy days. We have a Passover Seder. We fast on Yom Kippur. But, we aren’t Jews because of God.”
Grandpa Moishe looks lovingly at his grandson, ‘Then why are you Jews?”
“I don’t know,” the boy replied, “that is why I am asking all of my grandparents this question.”
Grandma Yetta, who works for the ADL of B’nai Brith joins in “You should be a Jew because we have been persecuted for thousands of years, and we share a common history and destiny.”
The boy responds to his grandmother candidly, “But so have blacks and Armenians. And I don’t feel persecuted, Grandma. It’s not part of my Jewish experience.”
“That’s what the German Jews said in the 1920’s. We must stick together and fight anti-Semites.”
“But there has to be a better reason for being Jewish than fighting common enemies, Grandma.”
“That’s good enough for me,” said Grandma Yetta.
“I’m sorry, Grandma Yetta, but it’s not good enough for me.”
The next day, the boy went to see Grandpa Justin, the lawyer and Grandma Esther, the schoolteacher.
“Justice is the essence of Judaism,” said Grandpa Justin.
“We have been on the forefront of the struggle for justice here in America, from the civil rights marches to the courtrooms. We Jews fight for every good cause.”
“But Jews are not alone in the quest for justice, many persecuted people seek justice. And the more rich and comfortable people are the more they forget about those who need help,” his smart grandson retorted.
Grandpa Justin responded, “Not the Jews. Even wealthy Jews vote with the poor and support civil liberties for those who don’t have them. We are a people of memory and we remember that we were slaves in Egypt and so we fight for all those who are oppressed in every generation.”
“That may be true, Grandpa, but the more ultra-Orthodox people are the less they fight for the justice and rights of others, especially the rights of women and other religions. I read the paper. So how can justice be the essence of Judaism?”
“You are very smart for an almost Bar Mitzvah boy. The failure of the ultra-Orthodox to fight for justice just proves that those who reject justice as the foundation of their Judaism, are not better Jews just because they are more observant of some of the commandments.”
“What do you think Grandma Esther?” the boy asked.
“Well, it shouldn’t surprise you that I think the essence of Judaism is education. In my 40 years of teaching I’ve observed that Jewish families care a lot about education –secular education, Jewish education, musical education, college education…
“But so do Asian families, Grandma.”
“True, my fellow teachers call some of our Asian families, the new Jews.”
“What has happened to the old Jews, Grandma?”
“The old Jews are still around. But, some of their kids gave up on public schools. Some focus on things other than learning now that they have success, making their priority in life hobbies, or sports, and some don’t even care about having a Jewish family any more.”
“Why should I care about having a Jewish family, Grandma?”
“Because, we need to preserve Judaism,” his grandmother patiently responded.
“But why? Unless there is something special about Judaism, what would be lost if more Jews married anyone they wanted and didn’t raise Jews or have Jewish kids… so there would be fewer or no Jews in the future.”
“That would be a tragedy,” said Grandma Esther. “The world would lose so much.”
“But, if Judaism really has an essence, why can’t that be transmitted without Jews?”
Grandma Esther said, “Because the important part of being Jewish is that we all have a different reason for what the essence of our Judaism is: For me its education, for Grandpa Justin it is justice. For your other grandparents who survived the Holocaust and go to temple all the time it is God, religion, and a common history of persecution and survival.
The Bar Mitzvah boy interrupted his grandmother and said, “I think I know what the essence of Judaism is, Grandma! It is our willingness to argue about issues like this. It is your willingness to treat my ideas with respect, even though I am only thirteen years old. It is my willingness to learn from my grandparents. Jews have always argued about God, prayer, justice, and even the essence of Judaism – being Jewish lets me think about what I believe and lets me have a say. I like that.
I realize that becoming a Bar Mitzvah means that I have just started to learn about Judaism. And it teaches me that if I want to have a say, I need to be educated. Education is really important, Grandma…you are right. And Grandpa Justin is right, because I want to be a part of a community that cares about Justice for all, and because Grandpa Moishe and Grandma Yetta went through everything they did to stay Jews, I guess I need to keep Judaism going.
(The Vanishing Jew, p. 284-6)
We need to keep Judaism going.
We are here, because Jews have gathered for Kol Nidre for over a thousand years, because Jews have fasted on Yom Kippur for thousands of years, because even when it was forbidden Jews risked their lives to keep Yom Kippur.
We are here, because since the Temple was destroyed the one place a community could come to be Jews together was the synagogue.
We are here, because as modern liberal Jews we welcome Jews and non-Jews, men and women into our service for all who want to be under our tent are welcome to join us.
We are here, because our past is so very important to us and because if we don’t care about our present and do whatever we can to keep Judaism going, then we will be responsible for the fact that there is no Jewish future. We are here for Sammy and for all those who dedicated their lives so that we could be here to tell their story.
We are here, because we need each other, we need community, we need faith and Torah, tradition and heritage.
We are here because what we have is so very precious.
We are here to make a vow that we must keep from this year to the next: to keep the questions coming, to learn and to teach, to protect and defend and preserve this Judaism that will be null and void if we fail in this sacred promise.
We are here, because it is Kol Nidre night and that matters to us. We are here …and for tonight that means everything. Everything.
by Rabbi Amy R. Perlin, D.D.
Temple B’nai Shalom