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The Drash

Music Evokes Memories and Emotions

09/05/2023 10:28:44 AM

Sep5

Rabbi Dan Dorsch

There are certain songs that I can’t listen to without sobbing. Anything by James Taylor and Carol King. Puff the Magic Dragon. Most of what plays on the “The Bridge” channel on SiriusXM.
 
What is amazing is this inevitable sobbing begins before any of the lyrics are actually recited.  I just have to hear a few chords.  My mother used to sing Puff the Magic Dragon to me as a child while strumming the guitar in bed.  And so the first time I tried reading a copy of the book to Zev, I couldn’t get through the book without tears staining all of the pages.  No doubt, the theme of the song–the loss of innocence and childhood–could be worth a good cry.  But over time, I’ve discovered I am not crying because of the content.  I am crying because of the memories evoked by the music.
 
In a few weeks, Jews across the country will come in droves into the pews for Kol Nidrei. In Israel, even Israelis who have never been in services will gather outside of synagogues to hear the final sounding of the Shofar.  
 
Very few people think about what Kol Nidrei even means or why we do it.  In sum, we are setting up a court of elders who will retroactively annul all of the vows we may make with God and accidentally forget about in the coming year.  No doubt, that topic is worthy of a good cry.  We all make promises and in the wake of the new year, sometimes forget them.  Painful consequences can ensue when we forget our promises.  
 
However, I am not sure this is what resonates with people at Kol Nidrei.  A Shofar that sounds without a memory of shofarot past is powerful, but it’s not the same.  Kol Nidrei makes us cry because the music and the chanting remind us of what was and is no longer each year.  And we come back year after year because of who was with us once upon a time and now only exists as a memory.  
 
Our rabbis refer to the melody used for Kol Nidrei as being so old that it is “MiSinai” (from Sinai).  That makes sense.  When we cry at Kol Nidrei, we are not the only ones. We cry alongside the Jewish people who eternally cry at the same melody, from generation to generation.

08/14/2023 11:28:29 AM

Aug14

Rabbi Dan Dorsch

This past week at a local grocery store, my patience was running thin.  The checkout boy clearly had no discernible skills when it came to identifying produce or any non-barcoded grocery.  I was polite and all smiles on the outside, but seething on the inside.  Ten minutes.  How could someone so inept waste so much of my precious time?
 
When I got into the car, I then gave it some thought.  What was wrong with me?  The checkout boy was exactly that: a boy.  He probably was a local high school student who had a job over the summer weekend.  He was also someone else’s child.  In a few years, I realized that the check-out boy could be Zev.  Could I have even identified Kale as a high schooler?  How could I be such a judgmental, impatient, yutz (I would have used another word, but this is a synagogue blog)?
 
Then, my mind began to wander.  If I could show such empathy for this teenager, why couldn’t I demonstrate more empathy for people in general?  It’s easy to judge when you haven’t walked a mile in someone else’s shoes.  What about the woman who woke up early to get to the store to work her weekend job because her husband was out of work?  Or, the person stacking shelves trying to get their life together after a traumatic incident?
 
We all carry more baggage with us than the bags that hold our groceries in the store.  Perhaps, that’s why Jewish tradition teaches us that we should judge everyone just a little more favorably (dan lekaf zechut).  Any one person on the other side of the checkout counter deserves a little compassion, and as I will try to work on, a little more of my patience.   

05/12/2023 11:09:29 AM

May12

Rabbi Dan Dorsch

As printed in the Marietta Daily Journal, May 12, 2023

I have to admit that I am a little embarrassed to be writing this letter. I’ve been the rabbi of the largest synagogue in Cobb County for nearly seven years. During that time, I’ve experienced no outward antisemitism (Jew hatred) against me personally. On the contrary, I’ve found that people of all faiths (and even those without) have treated me with affection and respect. I have participated in any number of inspiring interfaith gatherings from East Cobb to Kennesaw. This is a wonderful community to live, learn, and raise my family.

 

All of that changed when I read a letter to the editor submitted by one of your parishioners in the MDJ a few days ago. You may have seen it yourself. In this letter regarding his observance of Good Friday, the writer refers to my ancestors, Jews living in post-biblical times, as “the swamp.” He then chose to repeat the lie that has been the cause of so much violence against Jews throughout our history: that the Jews are responsible for Jesus’ death.

 

I hope you join me in being appalled at seeing these false claims about Jews in print. And if you are the pastor of this individual, I hope you will reach out to him and ask him to submit a retraction. It hardly needs repeating that the Second Vatican Council in Nostra Aetate (1962-1965) repudiated the claim that the Jews, then and now, hold any responsibility for Jesus’ death. Similar major American churches, such as the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, have also followed suit.

 

However, there is another good reason beyond this claim’s historical inaccuracy for you to repudiate it publicly from your pulpit. It is not only false, but it is dangerous and makes Jewish communities feel unsafe. European Pogroms, or violent massacres against peaceful Jewish communities as late as the 1800s, were often based on this claim. It won’t surprise you to find out that during the 1930s in Germany, there were plenty of pastors preaching this lie from their pulpits, unaware of what influence their sermons would have in the years ahead.

 

I suspect you do not follow statistics about current antisemitic hate crimes against Jews, but it won’t surprise you to know that they are skyrocketing in our state. The Atlanta Journal-Constitution reported that antisemitic incidents in Georgia were up 63% over the previous year. Metro Atlanta neighborhoods where Jews live are routinely blanketed with offensive flyers intended to intimidate, and we are often the victims of harassment. American Jewish Committee, the global advocacy organization for the Jewish people, reports that 9 out of 10 American Jews are concerned about antisemitism, and 4 out of 10 American Jews feel that their status as Jews is less secure than a year ago.

 

Jews have been part of the fabric of Georgia since we first arrived here in 1733. Since then, we have been part of the fabric of this incredible state by serving in public office, law enforcement, and the military. The oldest synagogue in Georgia was the recipient of a beautiful letter written by America’s new president, George Washington in 1791. I shared this letter as a prayer when I recited the opening benediction at a session of the Cobb County Commission several years ago.

 

My ask of you, therefore, is simple: if you preach these untruths about Jewish deicide, or denigrate my ancestors from your pulpit, please stop doing so. If you hear an antisemitic comment from a parishioner, please call it out as unacceptable and as a threat to the lives of your fellow American citizens.

 

I’m sorry we’ve never met. Therefore, I extend a hand to you and your community in friendship. Bring your community to our synagogue so that we may get to know one another. I know that we do not believe in all of the same things. But we share so many common values and principles, foremost among them, a deep love of this country and a desire to make it better for our children. Let us try to focus on the great things we can do together rather than what makes us different.

 

Rabbi Dan Dorsch of Congregation Etz Chaim and Co-Chair of Interreligious Relations, American Jewish Committee Atlanta.

 

 

Constructive Conversations

05/04/2023 05:08:43 PM

May4

Rabbi Dan Dorsch

At some point in my rabbinate (I am deliberately being ambiguous as to the timeline here), I received a rather chutzpadik complaint.  
 
In fairness to this person, the complaint itself was not the problem.  She may even have had a point.  What made the complaint chutzpadik was that the person who issued the complaint was not a member of the synagogue, had never been to a synagogue program, and had no personal stake in the matter in which she felt the need to complain.  
 
When people file suit to the Supreme Court, this is called a matter of having “standing.”  If the person filing suit is not in some way directly affected by the matter, it does not matter if they are right or wrong: the court dismisses the case.  As a rabbi, for example, I couldn’t take part in a class action suit filed by the Lovers of Bacon Society (yes, I just made that up).  It would be absurd.  
 
One of the more serious concerns from where I sit when it comes to having constructive conversations about Israel is related to this issue of standing.  I personally feel that our synagogue, by virtue of our love for Israel, has good standing when it comes to holding constructive conversations about the future of Israel.  We are invested.  We serve in positions of governance on boards and on committees that support Israel.  We have family members and friends who live there.  All of this gives us standing.  For the record, not all Israelis would agree with me.  Many feel that American Jews who do not vote in the country, serve in the army, and are not citizens, have no standing at all.  
 
Despite that last disagreement, what American Jews and Israelis certainly unite behind is that many critics of Israel–especially those who are a part of intersectional movements–have no standing to get involved in these conversations.  This certainly hasn’t stopped random groups and some celebrities from believing it’s their place to comment on Israeli politics.  But most serious people recognize that these folks are as bad as my joining up with the Bacon Lovers Society, and as much a farce as the chutzpadik complainer I began this piece by writing about. 
 
I do feel when engaging in productive discussions about Israel, it’s always important to take the standing of a person into consideration.  And all the more so, when we are among lovers of Israel not to forget: Derech Eretz Kadma LaTorah. 
 
There are certainly the “Bacon Lovers” in our society who warrant our disdain.  But we cannot forget that the way we treat one another, especially in our large, “multiple-ways to change a light bulb” community of standing, matters almost as much as what we have to say.  
 

The Lottery Ticket

04/17/2023 12:55:27 PM

Apr17

Rabbi Dan Dorsch

The last thing that I did to mark the weekend of my fortieth birthday was to buy a lottery ticket.  We were leaving Atlantic City (having broken even, I can proudly say) after a beautiful Shabbat.  We stopped at a rest stop and feeling lucky, I bought a Powerball ticket.
 
It’s been several weeks.  I still haven’t checked my numbers.  Why?
 
It could be that the chances of winning the Powerball are next to nothing.  They are so slim that it’s probably not even worth the time of going through the hassle to check the numbers on the website.  
 
However, I think that there’s also something else at play here.  As long as I don’t check the Powerball numbers, I could still potentially be a winner.  Hope springs eternal.  But the second that I check my ticket, the game is over.  I know that I will have lost the game.  I’d like to put off that feeling as long as humanly possible.
 
Why don’t we know the day we will die?  Why, as Pirkei Avot teaches, are young children like blank pieces of paper waiting to be written on, but old people like crumpled up, withered pieces of paper?  
 
It is because two things about our lives remain true at the same time.
 
Our lives are like a game of chance.  God knows our dispositions.  But we want to believe that the outcomes and possibilities for the direction our lives can take are infinite and rely on the choices we make at every second. 
 
Yet, I have to believe that it is also true that somewhere out there is a lottery ticket with our numbers on them.  Only God knows whether we will be winners or losers.  Only God knows our fate: “who after a long life, and whose time will be cut short.”      
 
We would all look at the results if we could.  But we can’t.  The results of the Powerball are predetermined.  But the journey of how we get there remains up to us.
Tue, April 23 2024 15 Nisan 5784