Words fail, heart breaks

Rabbi Ariana sent the following message to Hinenu membership on Sunday night, October 8. Following the message, click for more resources to take action:

I wanted to drop a line to join you in heartbreak at the news of war in Israel and Palestine that began over Shabbat. This is a nightmare. If you are just plugging back into the news and internet after Shabbat and Yom Tov, go slow, there is a stunning amount of news that waits for you.

Many people in our community have family, friends, and loved ones in Israel and Palestine. Continue to keep me and our community updated as to their wellbeing--we pray that they are as safe as can be, and that safety covers all soon and in our days. Share their names with us, that we can speak prayer over them together. You are not alone.

In moments like these, we often feel a deep urgency to respond, even as we are unsure of what action to take. I know that I cannot write a d'var Torah that will end this war. I know that no $18 donation to Magen David Adom or the Red Crescent will stop the flow of injuries and death. From a place of grief and activation, I wonder what to DO, what to SAY, what to POST that will help. In the time ahead (please God, let it be moments not days not weeks...) I believe the path forward for our action will be made clear. I want to encourage all of us to sit with grief and despair at war and to acknowledge the urgency to do something comes from deep care for human life. The first step is connecting with one another, with words however imperfect, so that as we move we can move together.

In the coming days members of our community involved in organizing efforts will be sharing out more resources. I am available for pastoral counseling and support, please do not hesitate to reach out. 

There are countless statements flowing from American Jewish institutions explicitly or implicitly making it clear that Jewish Israeli lives matter more to them than Palestinian lives. This too feels devastating, soul destroying. As a Jewish community that is committed to life and liberation we have a moral obligation to not get swept up by body count math, and to not minimize the violence experienced by any person regardless of where they live. Palestinian and Israeli lives are being destroyed and forever changed by this war, by this Occupation, by the decisions of militaries that treat their civilians like pawns. War and Occupation are death dealing forces. I join with you in praying for a just peace to cover all.

I appreciate the framing from Jews for Racial and Economic Justice who said "We are angry that leaders continually choose extremism, violence, and occupation...We recognize that attacks on civilians by Hamas are neither justifiable nor unprovoked. This has been the deadliest year for Palestinians in decades of occupation and of the stifling blockade of Gaza."  This war and loss of life is in the context of so many decades of death and brutality, and we hold that all at once.

May our prayers ascend for all caught up in the war machine. May we see an end to this violence soon and in our days.

Rabbi Ariana

Statements


Action

Fundraising VORT by Jen Cheslock

Hi, I’m Jen Cheslock. I’m the new Fundraising Chair on Hinenu’s Board of Directors. I’m here today to pray, but also to share a little about me–and, I know you are shocked, I’m also here to make a fundraising request–an ask. Both sides of my family have been in Baltimore a long time. My dad’s side since the turn of the 20th century. My mom, she’s a Jew by choice, and her family has been here since at least the Civil War–probably longer.  My parents created a universe that I’m calling Chesapeake-style conservadox. It was chock full of the standard Baltimore Jewish institutions.  And we kept kosher right up to the point where…we ate crabs outside the house. 

But, what stands out most when I think about my parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents–is how they created, and then strengthened, a culture of giving. Sometimes it was about giving money, but other times, it was giving someone a seat at your Shabbat or Seder table, rides to/from a doctor’s appointment, inviting someone to stay with us to help them out. Some of that was chesed or kindness and other times tzedakah or charity. According to Rav Asi [in Bava Batra 9a verses 12-13], giving charity is equivalent to all of the other mitzvot combined. 

This passage makes so much sense to me. When I felt disconnected, I wasn’t sure how to engage in Jewish spaces. During those times, giving charity became my faith in humanity and hope for the future in action. Other Jewish spaces supported my inherited Jewish learning, but did not align with my values or my understanding of the world. I looked for other options–for a while–and then I found Hinenu. 

I still hold close to the culture of giving my family created and that is part of what drew me to Hinenu–I see that reflected here. Hinenu created a place and space for us to bring our full selves to this community, and that is so rare. Therefore, it’s not a surprise to me that when traditional Jewish funders in Baltimore look at Hinenu–they aren’t quite sure who we are. 

So how do we create stability for this community outside of the traditional structures? According to Isaiah chapter 32: verse 17, : tzedakah brings stability: “For the work of righteousness shall be peace, and the effect of righteousness, calm and confidence forever.” 

Organizers know that to build power, they need to move people or money to support their goals. Fundraising isn’t all that different. And, like an organizer, I hope to inspire you to take action and move money into this community. And if I can’t inspire you, I hope one of our major donors can. When I asked them why they give to Hinenu, they said, “I just knew I wanted to put power in their hands.” 

We need your tzedakah. I am determined, as your Fundraising Chair, to make sure that Hinenu continues to be an accessible option for the future MEs and the future YOUs – who need a Jewish place that feels open, safe, and welcoming to all.  That won’t happen without your help.  In different stages of my life so far, I have been a doer, an organizer, and in other times, when I couldn’t devote time or effort, I moved my money into the causes I cared about. We need the doers, the organizers, and the folks donating resources–and those roles are not mutually exclusive. 

As promised, here’s the ask: 
Take a moment to reflect on this Rosh Hashanah–How are you able to increase your contribution to Hinenu: What can you do, how can you help us organize, and at what level can you donate? How can YOU help strengthen our culture of giving? And depending on who you are–and your individual circumstances–you’ll be able to determine that HOW better than me. Every contribution counts–while, as your Fundraising chair, I’m supposed to focus on dollars, I’m also going to be the person who tells you that to do the Fundraising work I have in mind for this year and the next, we will need doers, organizers, AND donors. We need some combination of these from each of you to fuel this shul. 

Everyone can donate something. $3 a month is $36, and for those of you who don’t yet give financially, please make a contribution–even a small one. Those of you who can give more generously than you currently are–we need you to step up.

  • Increase your monthly membership dues by $3. 

  • Make a multi-year pledge. 

  • Make an additional gift this year of an amount that is meaningful to you. 

  • Make a contribution in honor of a simchah. 

  • Designate Hinenu as the place to receive contributions in memory of someone you love.  

If you can’t give Hinenu more money, can you help me make donor thank you calls? Can you help me organize some of the fundraising efforts this coming year? Can you leverage some Jewish Smalltimore knowledge and connect me with someone who could be a new major donor? 

The Jewish Baltimore I grew up in–they may not know who we are, but I do–and so do you. Hinenu IS the new Jewish community–and we are not going anywhere. But, we DO need your help to grow, to sustain this place. Hinenu means HERE WE ARE. We are the little Baltimore house that justice built. So help me fuel the shul, power our work, and strengthen our roots here in Baltimore for generations to come. 

Good yontif and Shabbat Shalom.

Building Sanctuary - D'var Torah for 18 MAR 2023 (Referencing Exodus 35.4 - 36.7)

The following d'var Torah was given by Karen Taylor on March 18 2023 for parshat Vayakhel-Pekudei

This week's parsha describes the “building of the traveling Mishkan.” Maybe you’ll be helped in understanding this through the translation of mishkan to tabernacle. … or maybe not. Tabernacle is about as meaningful a term to me as pinochle, a word I definitely misspelled when typing this out. They are familiar to me as kind of funny words I’ve heard over my life, and yes, I know of the former that it’s some kind of tent business and I know of the latter that it’s some kind of card game, (well, I think it is), but that’s about it. 

Let’s try a different word, a different translation. The mishkan, the tabernacle -  the sanctuary. This parsha describes the building of the sanctuary made to shelter the newly re-received tablets of the ten commandments and to allow Aaron and the other priests to do their holy work. As Moses told the people:


This is what יהוה has commanded: Take from among you gifts to יהוה; everyone whose heart is so moved shall bring them—gifts for יהוה: gold, silver, and copper; blue, purple, and crimson yarns, fine linen, and goats’ hair; tanned ram skins, dolphin skins, and acacia wood; oil for lighting, spices for the anointing oil and for the aromatic incense;


What follows is an outpouring of gifts, material gifts of all kinds as well as the gifts of skilled craftspeople charged with the transformation of wood and necklace and spice into structure and adornment and ritual offering. This outpouring continues and continues, with the people asking each other “what can I bring” until the craftspeople building the sanctuary told Moses they had more than was needed:


Moses thereupon had this proclamation made throughout the camp: “Let no man or woman make further effort toward gifts for the sanctuary!” So the people stopped bringing: their efforts had been more than enough for all the tasks to be done.”


As the current president of the board here at Hinenu, and as a former fundraising chair, I cannot help but feel a twinge of longing to be in Moses’ position at the time of this parsha, getting to say “Enough! Stop giving! We’re good!!!” I would so love to check in with members just to check in, and not because membership dues have not been paid. Or to talk to folks with enthusiasm about what we’re doing without them or me waiting (or dreading) the inevitable ask. Donor fatigue is a real issue - and so is asker fatigue, and it can lead to loss of perspective on both sides, loss of connection to the how and why of the generosity being requested and offered.


So, much more than the abundance of goods shared and the fulfillment of the needs, what, to me, is most striking in this text is the repeated invoking of the heart’s role in the generosity being shown. 


Everyone whose heart so moves … 

Men and women, all whose hearts moved them…

And other variations of the same. Even the Hebrew word for generosity here, nadiv lev, is rooted in the heart, lev. This openness of the heart, the movement of the heart to give, I dare propose that this is the real gold here, this is what allows the craftspeople and Moses to know they have enough. Yes, the material goods are important, immensely so, but more so is the spirit in which they are given. 

In a reminder of interconnectedness, this teaching aligns very strongly with Buddhist teachings on generosity, dana, and the open-hearted and open-handed spirit of generosity, caga. Buddhist teachings point to the spirit and motivation of generosity as the most important part of a gift, more than the amount. They teach that this opening of the heart is a key factor in spiritual progress along the path of liberation. Generosity is what the Buddha taught first, before ethics, before mindfulness training, and is listed as the first of the paramis, or perfections, traits to develop. Why? Generosity is a key liberatory practice because it frees us from a sense of separateness and non-belonging. It helps us to experience and come to know how we all shift between roles of giver, receiver, and gift, in the ever-changing flow of life. We can see this in the parsha, as the Israelites, by giving of their gold and wood and textiles, sheltered and clothed the priests, found themselves interwoven into the sacred rites, and received the teachings and blessings their offerings made possible.

Buddhism also describes giving as an act of preservation. In the Aditta Sutta, from the Pali canon, a radiant celestial being tells The Buddha:

When a house is on fire,

the vessel salvaged

is the one that will be of use,

not the one left there to burn.

So when the world is on fire

with aging & death,

one should salvage (one’s wealth) by giving:

what’s given is well salvaged.

“So when the world is on fire with aging & death, one should salvage (one’s wealth) by giving: what’s given is well salvaged.” To save something dear, we don’t sequester it or hold it back, but give it away. This is how, in this day and age, teachings and practices originating well over 2,500 years ago are still here, surviving through so many instances of a world on fire. We give it away, but we do need to keep it safe, so we build a sanctuary, a Tent of Meeting, where care is both given and received.


And it strikes me, that while Moses and the Israelites were building a sanctuary, a physical entity that could, at least for a time, be completed, we here at Hinenu, with the privilege of this physical space generously rented to us by Homewood Friends, we haven’t needed to build a sanctuary. Instead, we are building sanctuary. Sanctuary for those who have felt the sting of rejection or not-belonging in other Jewish spaces. Sanctuary for those who don’t want to choose between a deep conviction in justice and human rights and a meaningful religious tradition. Sanctuary for those looking for welcoming space to develop in their spiritual path, or develop community; to connect with ancestors biological or chosen. 

It is sanctuary that allows me, a patrilineal Jew who spent years calling myself “Jew…ish?,” feeling rejected by Jewish community and rejecting it in turn, to not only come to feel welcome enough to be able to serve in leadership here, but also to be able to share out loud with you that I am Jewish. And I am Buddhist, or, at least, that is the lens through which I feel I see things most clearly. And it only took a lot of crying in the woods to recognize how much I feel connected to and want to be both, and just one tearful conversation with Rabbi Ariana to feel assured that I can pursue a Buddhist path without being exiled or having to self-exile from this community, from the sanctuary we build and give to each other.

Building sanctuary. This is what we do, this is what we are doing. And so, while I may wish it for my many eager successors in this role (hint, hint), I know I won’t find myself in Moses’ enviable position of pleading with you all to stop giving. The work of building sanctuary does not come to an end, there is no final nail to hammer and no final curtain to hang. And so I will keep asking for your gifts; for your money, offered as donations and membership dues, as celebrations and as memorials; and for your skilled service, in the form of volunteering and stepping into leadership. I will keep asking for the sake of this community, this sanctuary that cannot be held together by enthusiasm alone, that needs a lot of material resources and labor. I will ask that you ask yourselves, your families, your networks to support this sanctuary we are building together.

And I hope that the words offered here can serve to remind us all, askers and donors, givers, receivers, and gifts, of these teachings that wisdom traditions have shared through time about the spiritual practice of generosity:

May our hearts open and move us. 

May our longing be for belonging.

May what adorned the body transform into what adorns the heart. 

May our giving be a way of saving the teachings and the teachers, who in turn will share their gifts on and on, l’dor v’dor, from generation to generation. 

May the sanctuary we build be boundless, interconnected, and for the benefit of all beings.

May our gifts open up the path of liberation, together.

May all beings be free.

D'var Torah on Parshat Yitro

In this week’s parsha, we go through the story titled Yitro. We have two elements. Moses is tired of the roles and duties that come with being the leader of a people, and has to be told in so many words he has to learn to delegate - hence the appointment of judges to handle disputes.

The second part of the story is the most memorable one, and it involves Moses going up Mt. Sinai, and coming back down with the listing of the ten commandments, and all that. Buthonestly, that is not the part I’m focusing on. But rather, what is the setting of all the raw theophany that takes place in the second half of Exodus? The setting is in the middle of the desert.

In other words, nowhere. In the middle of nowhere. The back of the edge of beyond. Go to the ends of the Earth and get off at the exit immediately after that. That’s the setting for the story. The burning bush, the commandments, the golden bull, the mana, Miriam’s well, etc. They’re all wandering through nowhere, here and everywhere.

There’s a pattern in that sense throughout the peoples of the world. The weird things all take place in the remotest places, in the lonely places. The Gaelic fae will abduct you when you’re in the middle of a forest. The sea monsters prey on mariners on far distant waters. Even the modern popular American cryptids are always in remote places. Mothman lives in the mountains of West Virginia, and Sasquatch is somewhere out there in the Rockies. The strange things that get told over the centuries to shape human history, lore and religion, never seem to happen in the middle of a busy street. That’s where we seem to be closest to what isn’t part of our world, whatever that is, and wherever it is.

And it makes sense. Think of the strange eeriness, the surrealness, as if reality were wrinkly around the edges, that you feel in say, a lonely highway or a rest area stop at 2 AM. Or a cabin in the woods. Yourself alone in a hotel room at any time, for that matter. Or even crowded places but where everyone’s kinda lost and things are slightly dangerous, like a Waffle House during the night shift.

What does that tell us about the divine? About Hashem? Well, maybe divinity is kind of like the sound of our heartbeat and blood flow. It’s there, making that sound, every single minute of your life, never stopping. But you will not notice it because it’s always been there, in the background from all the million other things happening. But if we remove all those million things, like being locked in a quiet soundproof room with the lights off, then you notice it. But, much like the reason a burning bush is used so that you cannot see their true form, this is not exactly good for you, and no one can take it for long without suffering the mental injuries - the reason why solitary confinement is such a cruel torture.

But, we can come close to that, with the divine. You probably won’t feel it in the crowded place, or at home, or maybe even here in shul. But in the liminal space where reality wrinkles, because all the other usual things that keep you busy are gone. The usual people, the cities, home, etc. You’re alone with your thoughts, in the wilderness, in the desert. That is where the divine exists in the liminal, in the remote, in the sketchy, even. In Nowhere. Whether that is the Sinai desert, or a small town Waffle House off an interstate in the middle of the night, after having driven 200 miles and still having another 200 to go. There’s nothing else going on, so you notice the weird things, the sacred things, the miracles, the divine. That is where the story of the ancient Israelites takes place. It cannot happen anywhere else.

So maybe next time you’re driving through one of those roads where it’s dark, there’s no cell phone signal, and would be a very bad time to get a flat tire, quiet down and notice it.