Rabbi Michael Sternfield's High Holy Days Sermons

The Three Pillars of Chicago Sinai Congregation

Rabbi Michael P. Sternfield

Chicago Sinai Congregation

15 West Delaware Place

Chicago, Illinois 60610

Rosh Hashanah Eve

September 8, 2010

With the kindling of the candles and the sounding of the Shofar, the Jewish people embark upon the year 5771; and we of Chicago Sinai Congregation enter our 150th year, our sesquicentennial. I realize that the overwhelming majority of our current members have little knowledge of the history of this congregation. Most of you know Sinai primarily for what it offers today, which is understandable since, after all, we live in the present and not in the past. Still, I feel it is important for us to have a sense of where we have come from, in order better to realize what makes this such a remarkable, I would even say unique, congregation.

Let’s not start off on the wrong foot. This evening’s sermon is not for the purpose of blowing our own horn, if you will forgive the pun. My intention is to underscore Sinai’s core principles, to identify where these came from and how, at least as I see it, these principles could guide not only Sinai but our entire Jewish community into a vibrant future.

Sinai’s most illustrious rabbi was Dr. Emil G. Hirsch. He served this congregation for over 40 years. By all accounts, including those of his descendents, Dr. Hirsch was not a nice man. He was brusque. He was impatient. He could be really sarcastic and even mean-spirited. He did not hesitate publically to berate prominent members of the congregation, of whose ethical behavior he disapproved. As a single example, there was one particular worship service where a well-known meatpacker and his wife were seated in the sanctuary. In the middle of one his sermons, he suggested that “the butcher’s wife” should stop blanging her jewelry. Dr. Hirsch also had quite a temper. In fact, at one heated board meeting, he totally lost it and hurled his chair across the room. I suspect that this explains why these days the chairs in our board room and too bulky to pick up!

All that said, Dr. Hirsch was brilliant. His eloquence was incomparable. He could express himself just as easily in English, French and German. During each of his summer vacations, he would enjoy learning a new language. Eventually, he would master thirteen of them. Emil G. Hirsch may have been the only true genius ever to lead a Jewish congregation in America. It is indisputable that he was the most influential rabbi ever to serve in our city. His influence was felt not only in the Jewish community but throughout Chicago. There has never been anyone like him; nor will be ever see his likes again. Although he died nearly 90 years ago, I continue to draw inspiration from his sermons and lectures. More important than his intellect, Dr. Hirsch was absolutely fearless, totally uncompromising. He was an incredible visionary, far, far ahead of his times. Chicago Sinai Congregation is what it is today largely due to Hirsch’s vision.

We can identify three characteristics of Dr. Hirsch’s religious philosophy that remain the pillars of Sinai to this very day. These are the commitment to rational faith, to social justice and to universalism.

Dr. Hirsch was an advocate of what has been called radical Reform Judaism. He wanted to get to the root of Judaism especially for the modern era. Judaism, he taught, should be in consonance with rationalism, not in contradiction with clear, intelligent thinking. To him, the function of prayer and rituals in Judaism was completely secondary to the broader appreciation of the guiding principles and values of Judaism.

And he did not mince words! He spoke condescendingly of what he regarded as a superstition that rituals could somehow influence how God treats us. “And so it is,” he wrote, “that though we may pray for wealth, pray for success, our prayers will not bring to us what we have asked for. This old notion of prayer we long since abandoned. This [kind of] prayer assumes that God does not know His business; that we have to tell Him what He is to do... [This] is simply a relic of an ancient conception of prayer… The rationalist is perfectly right when he scorns a prayer of this kind…”

“Of course, [he continued] I need scarcely waste a minute to assure you that in this, our Temple, we never shared or cherished the notion that our prayer could influence the course of the universe.… We never entertained the notion…that because we may mumble a phrase or two our faith and our fortune will be changed, that the Power that presides at the center of all things from which all life flows, from which all power comes, that this Power will yield to our wishes, [that it] will concede to our whims….”

Religion, he stressed, is the tendency above and away from our own selfish being, Religion should be that power which carries us beyond the petty and the narrow of our temporal existence and prayer is a medium to make this ascent from the low to the high, from the common and vulgar to the sublime and most exalted clearer for us.

This radical insistence on the bonding of religion and rationality remains one of the pillars of Chicago Sinai Congregation. I have often said, in much less elegant language that that of Dr. Hirsch, that one should not have to park his/her brains outside when you come into this synagogue. Our worship services are not for the purpose of influencing God with flattering praise. Rather, these are for the purpose of influencing us. There is not a single prayer that we recite, not a single traditional ritual that we may perform that we believe will have even the slightest influence upon God. Worship services and ritual practices are strictly for purpose of raising our consciousness of life’s higher purposes. This is the essence of rational faith.

The second pillar of Chicago Sinai Congregation is our commitment to social justice. You may have heard that in the first synagogue building constructed while Dr. Hirsch was rabbi, there was no ark because there were no Torah scrolls. Believing that it is the teachings of the prophets rather than the laws of the Torah that are the truest articulation of Jewish ethics and values, the Torah scrolls were relegated to the museum of the University of Chicago.

In the ensuing structure which still stands and is now the Mt. Pisgah Baptist Church, for old times sake, a single Torah was placed in an ark behind the pulpit. That ark was about the size of a medicine chest. The Torah scroll hardly ever was taken out or read. Instead, the weekly Torah portions were replaced by readings from the great Hebrew prophets such as Isaiah, Jeremiah, Amos and Micah who emphasized the primacy of social justice over ritual as the essence of our faith. Today, as you know, we do read from the Torah, not so much as the embodiment of God’s laws, but more as the symbolic representation of our long history, heritage, and values.

An unwavering commitment to social justice was fundamental to Dr. Hirsch as it has been to virtually all Sinai’s rabbis ever since, and I include myself.

Emil Hirsch spoke out fearlessly on behalf of workers’ rights, at a time when working people, many of whom were immigrants, routinely were exploited and treated inhumanely by their employers, with little or no regard for the workers’ well-being, health or safety. I have no doubt that if Dr. Hirsch was alive today, he would employ virtually the same words that I am about to quote concerning the exploitation of the millions of undocumented foreign workers upon whom so much of our daily lives are largely dependent, and who work mostly for sub-standard wages and without benefits.

Hirsch said: “A person must never become a thing; a person must never become a tool or a means to somebody else’s pleasure or to somebody else’s power. Each person has a worth that no one else has the right to invade or to diminish…. If a person becomes not a human being, if he is no longer regarded and treated as a being with an immortal soul, with a conscience, as a being that the same yearning for love, the same desires that we feel, then that social condition is practically slavery, and does not square with the implications of our religion.”

You should know as well that Dr. Hirsch also advocated on behalf of public education as a right of all Americans. As a direct consequence of his advocacy, his disciple and Sinai member, Julius Rosenwald, the founder of Sears, personally established hundreds of schools in the South for African-Americans who, until then, had no chance of achieving literacy.

Very simply, Dr. Hirsch believed that religion must be a power and a force for the continuous adjustment of society so as to realize the Messianic dream of a just and compassionate world for all people. To him this was the uncompromising vision of the great Hebrew prophets, and why their admonitions first and foremost were read at Sinai’s services.

I am pleased to say that this commitment to social justice remains a pillar of this congregation. No aspect of Sinai’s life is as vibrant as our social action projects. I hope that Dr. Hirsch would be proud to know of this Temple’s efforts on behalf of the victims of Hurricane Katrina, of our strong support of the Jenner School, our advocacy of gun control, of our support for health care reform and of our demands for much needed and long overdue electoral reform, just to name a few.

God knows there is still so much injustice to be addressed in our nation and especially, for us, here in Chicago. The pathetic state of public education, particularly on the South and West Sides of Chicago are a disgrace to us all. The seemingly unstoppable epidemic of gun violence which claims so many young lives and cripples many others every single day is a blight upon us all.

The fact that we, residing in the more privileged neighborhoods of our city, seem relatively content merely to shake our heads in sadness, and essentially do nothing about the horrifying loss of life and limb is both a tragedy and a travesty.

And I must add that the degree of political corruption which seems endemic in this city, in the county and in our state cries out for far-reaching, long, long overdue reform. Our collective shrug that this is just the way things have always been in Chicago and Illinois is a lame excuse for doing nothing just because the status quo seems to work ok for us.

If indeed the goal of a just society is to remain one of Sinai’s pillars, as I pray it will, we must recognize and accept that this is no time to feel satisfied. As the Pirkei Avot puts it so distinctly: “Lo alecha ha-davar lig-mor, v’lo atah b’nai cho-rin t’hi-ba-teil mi-menu.” It is not your responsibility to complete the task, but neither are you free to desist from it.” Sinai always has and always must stand at the forefront of the struggle of justice and human dignity. It is not only our heritage; it is one of the chief reasons for this congregation’s very existence.

And now we come to the third pillar of Sinai, which is universalism. Emil Hirsch was among the pioneers in establishing the vital institutions of Jewish life in Chicago and beyond that helped Jewish immigrants from Eastern Europe begin new lives in America. At the same time, he continuously encouraged Chicago’s Jews to see the larger picture, to recognize that we are of one human family. The doctrine of human equality was preached and practiced at Sinai.

He wrote: “The rabbis always taught that the distinction between Jew and non-Jew must be ignored in everything that bears on humanity….Why? because the non-Jew is the [son] child of God just as much as they.”

It was Dr. Hirsch who decided that the inscription over the doors of Sinai should be “My House Shall Be a House of Prayer For All People,” Over the past 100 years, countless non-Jewish worshippers have attended Sinai’s services and events, and have been completely welcomed, a tradition that continues to this very day. And, to my amazement, I learned that Dr. Hirsch even officiated at some interfaith weddings, long before any rabbi would have dared to do so.

Especially today, this universal outlook remains one of Sinai’s most distinctive features. While never ignoring our loyalty and our responsibilities to our own Jewish people, whether in Israel or anywhere else on earth, we affirm our common bond with all people of good will, regardless of their religious affiliation or lack thereof. The large majority of the children of our religious school are from interfaith, intercultural and interracial families, and we choose to make no distinctions whatsoever. And this goes far beyond Sinai’s unwavering commitment to welcoming such families and officiating at their weddings and baby naming ceremonies. This universal mindset is what makes Sinai unique. Sinai is a house of prayer and study for whoever desires to be a part of our community. This is an iron-clad principle from which we will never waver.

And so, as we put it all together, these three pillars taken together: rational faith, social justice and universalism, these are what make Chicago Sinai Congregation the unique and remarkable institution that it has been and, God willing, will continue to be for generations yet to come.

These values may date back nearly a century since they were first articulated and practiced but they even more vital today than ever before. Ours is a Jewish community and a religion in transition. Many of the forces that previously caused our community to coalesce are no longer as dominant as they were a generation ago, particularly the remembrance of the Holocaust and the needs of the endangered State of Israel. In addition, our entire society seems to be questioning the value of organized religion. There are many people today who have simply decided that they have no need for formalized religion. And, I must add, if the purpose of organized religion is to be only of self-perpetuation, then perhaps the nay-sayers are right.

Although many of our fellow Jews and Jewish institutions may wish to deny it, or to turn back the clock, ours Jewish people is rapidly becoming increasingly diverse. For all practical purposes, Sinai today is an interfaith, inter-cultural, heterogeneous Jewish congregation, and I happen to think that is pretty terrific! Chicago Sinai Congregation is a snapshot of Jewish life as it actually is today, and it offers a vision for a creative, dynamic Jewish future in which inclusivity is practiced, rather than exclusion.

As I remarked at the outset, this sermon has not been intended for self-congratulation, nor is our 150th anniversary for the purpose of patting ourselves on the back. These are for the purpose of reminding ourselves of why we should exist and what we should aspire to accomplish. I am firmly of the belief that these fundamental convictions offer a blueprint for the future of Jews and Judaism in America.

All those who, with the hearts and with their minds, seek God’s presence in their lives are most welcome here, as they should be in every Jewish congregation.

All those who are willing to pray for and work for a more just and compassionate society for all people, even by sticking their necks out whenever necessary, we want you. We need you. Judaism needs you.

All those who are committed to the brotherhood and sisterhood of the entire human family, let them know that Chicago Sinai Congregation welcomes and embraces them because this is and always will be a house of prayer for all people.

The Circle of Life

Rabbi Michael P. Sternfield

Chicago Sinai congregation

15 West Delaware Place

Chicago, Illinois 60610

Kol Nidrei Eve 5771

September 17, 2010

For centuries, our sages and scholars have taught that God rewards goodness and punishes evil. But I wonder how many people ever believed it, especially given the Jewish people’s long history of unrewarded piety and undeserved suffering. We may wish that it would work that way; that reward and punishment would be directly related to human conduct. But it is pretty obvious that this is not the way the world works.

This is the dilemma that the Coen brothers explore in their film “A Serious Man,” an adaptation of the story of Job set in the 1960’s Minnesota suburbs. The film portrays the relentless living nightmare of a 40-ish Jewish physics professor named Larry Gopnick, for whom almost everything goes terribly wrong. Larry is essentially a good guy, just a nice Jewish fellow doing the best he can when his world comes crashing down on him. His hopes for tenure at the university are endangered by anonymous false accusations; his wife reveals she is in love with another man and she wants a divorce; his brother is arrested, and on top of it all, Larry probably has cancer. And that’s only a portion of his tsuris.

In utter exasperation, he turns to two rabbis pleading: “What does God [actually “HaShem”] want from me?” The answers he receives are pathetic, actually useless, perhaps the most ridiculous answers ever given by any rabbis, real or imaginary.

This film is fictional of course, but the horrible predicament that Larry finds himself in unfortunately is all too familiar. When confronted with sudden, always unexpected adversity, it is natural to ask ourselves: What have I done to deserve this? Or, perhaps: Why is God punishing me with all this tsuris? Almost everyone, at some time in his/her life, asks this question, whether owing to the death of a dear one, the sudden onset of serious illness, financial disaster, problems with the kids, or any of the endless list of disappointments and failures. Judaism has been wrestling with possible reasons for suffering since the days of the Bible.

In the original version, the Book of Job, Job is portrayed as essentially a good person, living a very comfortable life. He has a large family; he has good health; he is well-to-do. Everything about Job’s life is excellent, but then it all changes. His family is stricken; he loses all of his flocks and herds and he is afflicted with a horrible disease. So he turns to various friends for comfort. Instead, they tell him that he must have done something to deserve all this misfortune. One friend advises Job that human beings are simply incapable of understanding God’s will.

Finally God, apparently having had His fill of Job’s complaining speaks to Job out of a whirlwind with the ultimate put-down, saying essentially: “You pathetic little man, who are you to question Me? Where were you when I created the heavens and the earth? You are incapable of understanding” [paraphrased]

Eventually, the Book of Job concludes with a happy ending. Because Job has not abandoned his faith, God rewards him by restoring his health, a new family and even more wealth than he had before. He lives a long and good life, surrounded by four generations of his offspring, at last dying old and contented. That’s the way the story of Job ends. And they lived happily ever after.

Nice.

I am sorry to pop your balloon, but most scholars agree that the Book of Job’s happy ending is a fake. The language of the final verses is completely different from the rest of the book. It is pretty obvious that the conclusion was written by someone other than the original author. Most likely, the ancient rabbis, when considering the inclusion of the place of Book of Job in the Bible, realized that to leave Job in misery at the end of the story would cast insurmountable doubt on God’s justice. So they added the happy ending.

The ending of “A Serious Man” is more like the original Book of Job. Just when the worst seems to have passed: Larry gets a phone call from his doctor whom tells him that he’d better come in right away, and we all know what that means. And the film ends with a tornado about to touch down upon children at play. No happy ending here.

About 20 years ago, Rabbi Harold Kushner took a turn with the book of Job. He wrote: When bad things happen to good people. It became a best seller, probably because many people mistakenly thought the title was “Why bad things happen to good people,” and wanted to know why. But, of course, the book does not answer this question because…

There probably is no reason why bad things happen. The Coen brothers give us their take on this at the very beginning of the film with a quotation attributed to the Jewish scholar Rashi who advises: “Receive with simplicity everything that happens to you,” as if to say: don’t bother looking for the reason. Just learn to live with it. Not a very satisfying answer, of course, but probably wise advice.

If I may be a little crass for a moment, as many a T-shirt or bumper sticker proclaims: “You-know-what happens.” As if to say: Deal with it. Learn to say to yourself: “Look! Life does not owe me any more than it owes to the totality of the human race. Who am I that I should expect certainty or predictability, when most of humanity lives with utter uncertainty day in and day out?”

Life is a continuously turning circle. Nothing is constant, except change itself. We would all do well to remind ourselves that nothing lasts forever, And if there is anything that most of us discover the hard way over the years, it is that life usually turns on a dime, for no apparent reason. You just never can know what is coming next.

A well-know rabbinic teaching comes to mind. The rabbis note that the Hebrew name for this day, Yom ha-Kippurim, can be read slightly differently as Yom k’Purim, which means “a day that like Purim.” At first, this seems ridiculous. These two holidays could hardly be more dissimilar. No, these rabbis continued: There is a lesson here. The Purim story shows how quickly things can change. Haman, who had been all-powerful one day, is condemned to death the next. One day Mordecai and Esther are in grave danger, and suddenly they are back on top. In fact, the spinning dreidel is said to be not only a toy, but also a symbol of the ever-turning and unpredictable nature of life itself. The circle of life is like a dreidel, more like a wheel of fortune. Therefore, like Purim, Yom Kippur reminds us that we should never be too smug about our comfort, nor too despondent when life is difficult…because things change. It is within this bewildering chaos that we have to make sense and find our way.

The renowned existential psychiatrist and Holocaust survivor Viktor Frankel discovered a great truth about deriving meaning from misfortune while he was in the concentration camp. In his book Man’s Search for Meaning, Frankl teaches that although we have neither understanding nor control over what happens to us, we can retain control over our attitude toward the situations we inherit. Each of us is presented with our own life challenges, a set of crises and dilemmas we face in our lives. Frankl would say that the events of our lives, whether fortunate or unfortunate only have meaning if we derive meaning from them.

Meaning can be found, not in trying to discover the reasons for, but in our response to personal suffering. We cannot select what will happen to us, but we do have the ability to choose our response to each situation. No matter how bad life may be, at a particular time and place, there’s always value to be taken from it. We must also keep in mind the possibility that the future might even be better than ever imagined.

Almost all of us can look back upon some particularly trying or painful times in our lives, and realize that somehow, we got through it. We can also recognize now that we gained something from the experience. I would not go so far as to say that “all things work out for the best,” but I do believe that most things work out for the best. Most things eventually do take a turn for the better. I don’t think this is totally serendipitous. It is almost always the consequence of an attitude, of refusing to give in to despair.

For almost all of us, remaining hopeful in difficult times is one of life’s greatest challenges. Viktor Frankl observed this in the worst of all places, the concentration camps--- how this attitude literally spelled the difference between life and death. None of our lives, no matter how tragic, could ever compare to what Viktor Frankl witnessed. Thank God. But our choices are similar.

How we respond particularly to adversity: this is where we do have a choice. And that’s the whole point. Unfortunately, there are some people who never seem to be able to see beyond their own misfortunes, and who become trapped in their own tsuris. Yet, there are others who, as a direct consequence their misfortune become stronger, wiser and more compassionate persons.

I judge no one. However, as a rabbi, I have been amazed by the resiliency of which the human spirit is capable. I have come to admire people with debilitating diseases or physical disabilities; others who have been flattened by disastrous events in their personal lives who refuse to surrender to despair.

There is a well known Jewish legend of a tricky fellow who was intent on embarrassing King Solomon. He came before the king and his court with both hands behind his back. He announces that in his hands is a small bird, and he asks the King: “Is the bird is alive or is it dead?” If the king says “dead,” he will show him the living bird, but if the king says “alive,” he will break the bird’s neck, then showing everyone the dead bird. “So, what will it be, he says to the king….dead or alive?” And the ever-wise king responds simply: “it’s all in your hands.”

In the same spirit, the best insight in the entire film “A Serious Man” comes from the elderly Rabbi Marshak, the third rabbi, who spends a few minutes with Larry’s son Danny on his bar mitzvah day. In the thoughtful tone of voice that we would expect of such a wise man, the rabbi quotes not the Torah or Talmud, but Grace Slick of Jefferson Airplane: “When the truth is found to be lies, and all the hope within you dies…” “Then, what? … Be a good boy.” In other words, no matter what, just keep your head up and do your best to be a decent person.

Essentially, the old rabbi says to the bar mitzvah boy, and to us all: Life is going to beat you up. People are going to disappoint you. Many of the things that our religion has been teaching you about God rewarding the good and punishing evil probably won’t turn out that way. All that notwithstanding, be a mensch; live a decent life.

At least one of the rabbis got it right!

This is a quintessentially Jewish message, one we would do well to remind ourselves of on Yom Kippur. These Holy Days are meant to evoke in us a greater appreciation for the gift of life, for making better and fuller use of whatever days and years that may be allotted to us. We were never promised anything. Nor should we believe that we deserve either our joys or our misery. The right question to ask is not “why are these things happening to me?” but rather, “What am I going to do with the hand I have been dealt?”

Life is too short to squander whatever time we may have left weighed down by cynicism, despair, or anger. No matter how profound our losses, nothing good ever comes from bitterness or resentment. To dwell on how unfair life may be only diminishes what remains; better that we should turn our attention to what we have left. This we know and this we must accept: “All things pass; all that lives must die. All that we cherish and love only are lent to us and the time comes when we are required to relinquish them.” God only knows how much any of us have left. I say this not to be morbid or depressing. It is simply the plain unvarnished truth.

Judaism has always taught that we are called upon to live lives of decency, of kindness and of integrity, not for the sake of being rewarded for our goodness, nor out of fear of being punished for our transgressions, but simply because it is the right thing to do.

It often has been noted that a significant difference between Judaism and certain other religions is that Judaism focuses almost completely on the here-and-now. There is precious little speculation about the hereafter. I regard this as one of Judaism’s greatest strengths for two reasons: first, because it is the only life that we are sure that we have, and second because, as the old saying goes: “this is not the dress rehearsal.” We may refer to as a circle, but we only go around once. This is the Circle of Life and it moves every one of us through hope and despair, through successes and failures, from one defeat to the next. We are called upon to accept with simplicity the events of this life, deriving from our blessings a greater sense of gratitude, and gaining from our sorrows and our failures a little more compassion for others who also have burdens to bear, most far heavier than our own.

For the Sin of Ignorance

Rabbi Michael P. Sternfield

Chicago Sinai Congregation

15 W. Delaware Place

Chicago, Illinois 60610

Yom Kippur 5771

September 18, 2010

This is a sermon that I found extremely difficult to prepare. The reason I say this is because I am deeply conflicted about this subject. I need to speak today about Islam. I would have preferred another topic, but this subject has become unavoidable given the controversies of the past month.

Islam is a subject that it is almost impossible to deal with rationally. The heat is just too intense, the passions too enflamed, the anger too deep, even though it has been nine years since the fateful events of September 11.

I admit it, like many Americans, I harbor deep animosity, yes, probably even hatred, for the Islamic terrorists who inflicted almost unfathomable harm on our beloved country. The sense of security for us living in the most powerful nation on earth was shattered by a small cadre of fanatical Muslims. Every one of our lives changed on September 11, 2001, and our country may never be the same.

Like most Americans, I am angry; I am resentful; I am bewildered, and yes, I definitely fear what may be coming next.

How much more complex are the feelings of most Jews, because of our devotion to the State of Israel, with which the Islamic world has been in continuous conflict for over a half century. In its entire existence, Israel has not enjoyed a single day of true peace, due to the unwillingness of the Muslim nations to come to terms with the existence of the Jewish state. Thousands of lives have been lost, men women and children. Even in this time of relative calm, Israelis live in constant fear of the next terrorist act, every time they board a bus, every time they enter a shop, or go shopping for groceries, or spend an evening at the movies. Israel’s population centers lie within easy range of hundreds, if not thousands, of missiles stockpiled by hate-filled Islamic groups, Hezbollah and Hamas. And of late, the fear factor has been raised exponentially with the real possibility of a nuclear armed Islamic Republic of Iran.

I have often questioned just what kind of religion this could be that produces such hatred; a supposedly ethical religion, yet one that finds religious justification for placing bombs on buses and in children’s classrooms; which proudly takes credit for the death of innocents; a religion that feels justified in sending its young men and sometimes women on suicide missions into crowded markets and cafes, with the promise of eternal reward, What kind of religion, I ask myself, would rather wage war for generations, sacrificing thousands of their own people, rather than compromise over a single square inch of real estate?

And, of course, this line of reasoning conveniently disregards the outrageous behavior of our own Jewish extremists, particularly the settlers, including those had the audacity to justify the assassination of Yitzchak Rabin by quoting obscure Jewish law. If we wish to be fair, then we must also allow that Islamic militants do not represent mainstream Islam any more than Jewish fanatics represent mainstream Judaism.

Nevertheless, all of these admittedly intense feelings well up in me every time I confront the subject of Islam. I find it very difficult to be rational and fair-minded.

When the rabbis conceived of the human mind, they spoke of two conflicting impulses that are in constant tension with one another. One they called the yetzer ha-tov, meaning the inclination to do good; the other called the yetzer ha-ra, the inclination to do evil. The yetzer ha-tov is identified with such traits as kindness, altruism, compassion, and basic human decency. The yetzer ha-ra is associated with the darker side of the human personality: aggression, hostility and anger. My yetzer ha-tov and my yetzer ha-ra definitely are in conflict. Part of me says: treat Islamic people with kindness and understanding. Don’t stereotype. Don’t cast blame. Then there is the other less forgiving part of me that says almost exactly the opposite.

Those who threatened to burn the Quran and those who continue to protest against the proposed construction of the Islamic center probably are not that far removed from mainstream American opinion. To some extent, America continues to hold all Muslims responsible for the crimes of the terrorists. Mostly, Americans seem unable or unwilling to differentiate between Islam and radical Islamic fundamentalism. A common inference is that American Muslims, even if they are not terrorists themselves, must be sympathetic to terrorists.

Decide for yourself if what I am saying is accurate. Every day, we encounter men and women clad in traditional Islamic attire on the streets, in the stores, all throughout Chicago. Everywhere they go, they are treated with suspicion and hostility. Sad to say, they are a distrusted minority, similar to the way our own Jewish ancestors were eyed suspiciously in the towns and shtetls of Poland and Russia.

I would not want to be a Muslim in America today, and neither would you! But here is where they live because America is as much their home as it is ours. The vast majority are peaceful ordinary people, and loyal Americans just like we are, who wish no harm, and only desire to make a make a better life for themselves and their children, and to practice their faith, as it their right and ours. But it’s got to be very tough for them, post September 11.

I sometimes wonder if the terrorists who devised the attacks of September 11 ever stopped to consider just how difficult they would be making the lives of the nearly seven million Muslims in America as a consequence of their evil plan.

I do not doubt for a moment that the overwhelming number of Muslim-Americans feel both sorrow and shame for the acts of terror that were committed in the name of Islam. I am sure it causes them considerably more distress than it causes us. But what can they do, other than to plead not to be blamed for the catastrophe of 9/11?

Muslims in America should not be expected to atone or apologize for crimes of which they had no part, and we must not expect them to do so. For us to blame these innocent people for the terrorist acts of others is no more than guilt by association. Considering all the irrational hatred that Jewish people have experienced over the centuries, we of all people should be especially sensitive to the unenviable position of Muslim in America.

Let me take this one step farther. Those Muslims who continue to practice their faith, including the wearing of traditional clothing, should be treated, not with derision, but with respect, even admiration. They know full well they will be viewed with suspicion everywhere they go: the hostile stares, the humiliating searches in airports, and yet they remain observant of their religious traditions.

A single, admittedly minor event in my life comes to mind. It happened over 20 years ago, but I have never forgotten it. I was in Paris and had attended Friday night services at the Synagogue on the Rue Copernic. Although it is a Reform congregation, all the men wear yarmulkes, as I did. Following services, I got on the near-by Metro. Standing on the subway train, a few young men began taunting me with anti-Semitic epithets. How did they even know that I was Jewish, I wondered. Then I realized that I had not removed my yarmulke when I left the synagogue. Let me tell you I was really upset and also afraid. I got off the train at the very next stop and removed that yarmulke as quickly as I could. I think of this little incident often. It was only a little black skullcap, but it made me instantly identifiable, and therefore a target of abuse. No harm came to me, but it was really unsettling.

I am sure you understand why I mention this incident. A yarmulke is such a small thing. One can remove all outward traces of Jewish identity literally at the drop of a hat. And that’s what I did, although, I must add, I am not exactly proud of this.

So what about the many devout Muslim men and women who dress in Muslim attire? Every time they set foot outside of their homes, they know that they are in for unpleasant experiences. And yet they do it anyway because, for them, it is a matter of keeping the faith. It is a matter of basic self-respect. They do so fully aware that every single day, again and again, they will pay a price for their religious convictions. How many of us would do that?

It may not be easy to set aside our anger and our anxiety, but this is what we must do. We have to come to terms with our own prejudices. The way we respond to Muslims is a litmus test for how much we really believe in American values. And I must add that the way we as Jews respond to Muslims is a true test of our Jewish values. It is no great accomplishment to be respectful and understanding of those who appear most like us. But to extend the same civility to those who seem so unlike us—that is the real test.

On September 17, 2001, just six days after the attacks, President George W. Bush, whom I do not often quote, delivered a much-needed message about keeping America's response to September 11 from turning into a war against Muslims. Speaking at an Islamic center just six days after the attacks, Bush correctly told the audience, and all of America, that it is vital for Americans to understand that the terrorists do not represent the Muslim tradition.

Bush’s advice to the nation, which in turn has been amplified many times by President Obama, has been dangerously undermined of late. An intense national debate is unfolding about Muslims in America, one that is exposing a very ugly side of America that we have not seen since the darkest days of the Civil Rights struggle. It bears all the familiar earmarks of bigotry and racial intolerance.

While some are leveling their criticism primarily on whether an Islamic center is appropriate so close to Ground Zero, many others are turning it into a different kind of discussion. Some, including Sarah Palin and Newt Gingrich, have made extremely inflammatory comments. Gingrich warned of the “radical Islamists” he says are behind the project, comparing it to Nazis putting up a sign next to the Holocaust Museum in Washington. None of this is helpful. And let me add this: the Anti-Defamation League’s opposition to the proposed Islamic center is dead wrong. I cannot even fathom why the ADL would take this position opposing, considering that its historic mission has always been to fight against prejudice and intolerance.

The greatest obstacle facing America concerning Islam, I believe, is our own vast ignorance. Most Americans know almost nothing about this religion. There are a billion Muslims in the world. There are more Muslims in America than there are Jews. But most of us know of Islam only from the headlines. Perhaps we have heard about some of the most extreme quotations from the Koran, and mistakenly concluded that Islam is an intolerant, blood-thirsty faith. We conveniently fail to acknowledge that similar extreme statements can be found in the Hebrew Bible, preferring instead to quote from the Bible’s most enlightened passages. To compare another’s worst with one’s own best is one of the oldest tricks in the book.

This much needed process must begin by lowering the decibels. America needs to stop shouting and start listening, and learning.

If we are ever to arrive at a more balanced attitude toward Islam, we have set aside our prejudices and start learning much more about this religion. We must acquire a much greater knowledge of these people. We must learn to relate to them with greater civility and understanding. And we also must realize into what a struggle it must be for Muslims in our country to find a way to embrace America without rejecting their own faith and values.

To give us some insight into this struggle, this is what Eboo Patel, the founder of the Interfaith Youth Core, here in Chicago, has written:

“I am an American Muslim from India. My adolescence was a series of rejections, one after another, of the various dimensions of my heritage, in the belief that America, India and Islam could not coexist within the same being. If I wanted to be one, I could not be the others. My struggle [is] to understand the traditions I belong to as mutually enriching, rather than mutually exclusive. [My generation is] standing at the crossroads of inheritance and discovery, trying to look both ways at once. There is a strong connection between finding a sense of inner coherence and developing a commitment to pluralism. And that has everything to do with who meets you at the crossroads.”

Imam Feisal Abdul Rauf, the planner of the proposed Islamic Center near Ground Zero, has written an excellent book entitled What’s Right With Islam. I will quote only a small part, which America would do well to heed.

“The world wants to like America. The guiding values that Thomas Jefferson articulated so eloquently -- life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness -- resonate strongly around the world, not because these are American values, but because they are universal values….

Americans must outgrow the unbecoming arrogance that leads us to assert that America somehow owns a monopoly on goodness and truth -- a belief that leads some to view the world as but a stage on which to play out the great historical drama: the United States of America versus the Powers of Evil.

Once we define as evil those who oppose us, we lose the moral high ground and begin to descend on an exceedingly slippery ethical slope.

What’s right with America and what’s right with Islam have a lot in common. At their highest levels, both world-views reflect an enlightened recognition that all of humankind… are, indeed, brothers and sisters.

[The Islamic mystics,] the Sufis teach that we first must battle and destroy the evil within ourselves by shining upon it the good within, and then we learn to battle the evil in others by helping their higher selves gain control of their lower selves.”

I feel confident that most of us intellectually understand that our attitude should not guided by prejudice. I am also confident that knowledge is the best antidote to hatred. But we all have a lot of work to do, as Americans and as Jews. We need to learn much more about Islam. We must also reach out more, even though we may not be especially inclined to do so. We need to put a human face on both Islam and Islamic people. And, I might add, it wouldn’t hurt for us to help our Islamic neighbors put more of a human face on the Jewish people.

To borrow Eboo Patel’s metaphor: we need to encounter one another at these crossroads. Our goal needs to be one of enabling our higher selves to gain control over our lower selves, or as we would say in the language of Judaism, to permit our yetzer ha-tov to have dominance over our yetzer ha-ra, a worthy goal for the Day of Atonement. And for us, as a congregation, long dedicated to social justice, to dedicate ourselves to this goal may be the very best way of all for us to observe our 150th year.

1. For purposes of continuity and clarity, I have rearranged the paragraphs of this quotation.