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From the Rabbi - January 2010 PDF Print E-mail
Dear Friends:

As many of you know, I teach in the History Department at TAMUCC as an adjunct faculty member.  The University has a small Philosophy Department, but offers only one course in the Philosophy of Religion.  There is no Department of Religion, but my Ph.D. is in history, so I have been included there.  One of the courses that I very much enjoy teaching is called “The History of Religion in America,” a course that is taken mainly by advanced students in the History Department.

I am beginning to prepare for this course, which will be offered again in the Fall semester of 2010, and that has led me to spend some time reading and thinking about fundamentalism, both in Judaism and Christianity.   Anyone who knows me, even a little, recognizes that I am far from being a fundamentalist, which means that understanding this kind of religious perspective is a stretch for me.  But, of course, one of the things that I treasure in my teaching is the opportunity to confront new ideas and wrestle with them.

Fundamentalism first came on the scene in American religion in the 1920s when a group of Protestants published a series of pamphlets in which they described the “fundamentals” of what a Christian was supposed to believe.  Since that time, however, it has come to mean a resistance to change, a dogged adherence to what the believer thinks are the unalterable basic tenets of the religion.  Most fundamentalists, however, go beyond simple belief; they resist any change whatsoever.  If grandpa davened by rocking from right to left, then that’s the way it has to be, forever and ever.  If we only use prune filling for hamentaschen or put raisins in the noodle kugel or take the left crown off the Torah before the right one – God forbid we should change even one iota!

In Jewish life, this kind of fundamentalism stems from the nineteenth century when a Rabbi in Hungary, Mordecai Schreiber (also known as The Hatam Sofer) announced that any change or innovation is forbidden by the Torah.  Since that time, Orthodox Judaism has become less flexible than it was before, even to the point of insisting that the adherents to various Hasidic sects wear exactly the same type of clothing that their predecessors wore two hundred years ago.

A religious stance like this, it seems to me, completely misses both historical truth and religious purpose.

First, historical truth.  When the Temple was destroyed in 70 CE, the new leaders of the Jewish community were not priests, but rabbis.  This was a major change.  Sacrifice was no longer of animals and other agricultural products, but prayer and study and tzedakah.  The Temple was replaced by a synagogue; one change followed another all the way through the Middle Ages and early modern period.  Mordecai Schreiber inveighed against innovation precisely because Jews continued to adjust the practice of their religion to modern times.  We kept to the basics, but changed the implementation, and we continue to do so.

Second, religious purpose.  Kashrut is important, but it is a means to a greater end.  When Saul of Tarsus (aka Paul) wrote to the emerging church in Rome (Romans 14:17), he said what Jews were also thinking: “For the kingdom of God does not mean food and drink, but righteousness and peace and joy in the spirit of God.”  Some people get so hung up on the minutiae that they forget the purposes for which religions exist.  Missing the forest for the trees is a common hallmark of fundamentalism.

In these dark days of winter, perhaps the lights of Hanukkah will continue to remind us to shine a little light on our own religious commitments and focus the beam squarely on what is really important and not on the details or transient elements.  Fundamentalism may be the choice of some people, but it’s not good for the Jews.

Shalom,

Kenneth D. Roseman, Rabbi

 
From the Rabbi - December 2009 PDF Print E-mail

Dear Friends:

A British, Anglican clergyman named John Andrew Holmes, who lived about a century ago, once wrote the following quip:  “Never tell a young person that something cannot be done.  God may have been waiting for centuries for somebody ignorant enough of the impossible to do that very thing.”

I suppose Food Fest is like that quote.  After all, any objective observer might say “How could a congregation of only 210 or so families ever dream of pulling off such an enterprise?”  The word “dream” is the key.  Theodor Herzl once wrote that “if you want something enough, it is no dream.”  A determined bunch of people can do remarkable things.

Or, think of Bar and Bat Mitzvah youngsters.  More often than not, non-Jewish parents come up to me after a service and ask “How did you ever get a thirteen year-old to so something like that?”  “It’s easy,” I reply.  “We don’t ask.  We simply expect them to do it, and, wonderfully, they rise to the occasion.”  Individuals are capable of incredible achievements, even if they don’t believe they can do so.

December is a great time to think about what we can do, even when we cannot see that there is a chance of succeeding.  It’s dark outside, and our vision can be obscured.  But our vision can also be enhanced if we turn our thoughts and images inward and look into ourselves.  It is amazing how much positive work we can visualize if we stop looking at the dark outside and start looking at the shining light that is within each of us.

You don’t have to be a naive young man or woman to think creative, positive new thoughts.  All you have to do is escape from the December doldrums of darkness and despair and think how much you can do, if only you will take a little risk and try.  Who knows?  God may be waiting just for you.

            Kenneth D. Roseman, Rabbi

 
From the Rabbi - November 2009 PDF Print E-mail

Dear Friends:

On November 2, 1898, Theodor Herzl, the founder of modern political Zionism, had arranged to meet Kaiser Wilhelm II of Germany, who was touring Palestine.  Their meeting took place at a kibbutz called Mikveh Israel, “The Hope of Israel,” and it was there that Herzl hoped that the Kaiser would endorse Zionist plans to create a Jewish national homeland in the area.

In fact, the meeting went smoothly, and Herzl left with the strong impression that Germany would throw its considerable influence behind the plans.  Imagine his surprise when, only a week later, the Kaiser turned lukewarm and then moderately negative to the Zionist idea.  What had happened to change his mind?

No, it was not anti-Semites in Germany, although there were certainly enough of them.  It was liberal Jewish professors and journalists and merchants who were afraid that, if they supported Zionism too strongly, a charge of dual-loyalty would be levied against the Jewish community of Germany.  Germans, they thought, would come to question their loyalty to the Fatherland and challenge their acceptance into German society.  They, it turned out, were the primary element that swayed the Kaiser away from supporting Herzl’s plans.

Fast forward now, exactly nineteen years.  WWI had been underway for three years, and there seemed to be no end in sight.  For the British, the key to their survival and ultimate victory was their navy; it would protect their access to the Suez Canal and guard communication within their world-wide colonial empire.  But how to guarantee that the British navy would continue to rule the waves?

A Jewish chemist named Chaim Weizmann offered the Admiralty a new kind of naval gunpowder, a propellant charge that could throw the projectiles of their battleships’ guns farther than their enemies’.  It would be to the great advantage of the British if they could shoot at the Germans, but, simultaneously, be out of range of the German guns.

Weizmann gave his invention to the Admiralty without consideration of personal recompense.  But he asked something for his people.  On November 2, 1917, His Majesty’s Government issued a statement declaring that they were in favor of the creation of a Jewish national homeland in Palestine.  This was the famous Balfour Declaration, named for the Colonial Secretary who first spoke it, Lord Arthur James Balfour.

But a week later, in an amazing parallel to the Kaiser’s earlier actions, the British government first began to waffle and then quietly dismissed their own intent.  Obviously, the goodwill of the Arab populations in Jordan, Palestine and Egypt was far more important to them than that of the Jews, and the assurance of a steady flow of oil for the boilers of their ships was more vital than faithfulness to their declaration.

The French have a saying:  “le plus ca change, le plus c’est la meme chose.” the more things change, the more it’s the same thing.  In fact, things have changed.  We are no longer worried about a charge of dual-loyalty.  We know we can be patriotic Americans, but simultaneously enthusiastic Zionists.  Our identity is no longer fragile or conflicted.  But, at the same time, we know that there are forces in the Arab region that would try to persuade the powers of the world that a Jewish state called Israel is a travesty and unacceptable.

It is incumbent upon us, then, to act as proud American Jews and equally proud supporters of the State of Israel.  We may not agree with everything Israel does – that’s our prerogative – but it is our fundamental task to ensure that the Jewish national homeland continues and that we move as deliberately as possible to a state of peace and security in that troubled region of the world.

Kenneth D. Roseman, Rabbi

 
From the Rabbi - October 2009 PDF Print E-mail
Dear Friends,
 
On the Shabbat that straddles October 16 and 17, we shall again begin the reading of the Torah.  I suppose that there is no other book that has had more influence on the history of the world than this one, and, when we start the annual cycle of reading, I find myself captivated by a number of majestic thoughts.  Let me share a few of them with you.

The practice of public reading of Torah is at least 2500 years old.  In the eighth chapter of the biblical book of Nehemiah, he who was the governor appointed by the Persians to oversee the restoration of Judean sovereignty over the land of Canaan in about 538 BCE, we discover how the reading was then performed.  I hope you’ll look up the details, but, take my word for it, in all major respects what we do in our sanctuary (and what is done in every synagogue around the globe) is virtually identical with what Nehemiah’s contemporaries did.  Whenever I read from the Torah, I have a powerful, almost mystical sense of participating in an unbroken historical tradition.  I am doing what Jews have done in every place and time where they have lived since the days of Nehemiah.  That’s a remarkable chain of tradition to which we link ourselves.

Nehemiah and his priest, Ezra, did something more than read the Torah.  They arranged to translate it; the Bible says they read it so everyone could understand.  They had to translate it because the Torah is written in Hebrew, while the common language of the people at that time was Aramaic.  I try to translate the text into English for the same reason.  They – and we – understand that these words are not simply words, but the key to our entire identity.  They contain important values and ideas and practices.  We structure our lives, consciously or otherwise, by what the Torah teaches, so it is important to us not only that we read the words, but that we understand the mandates that are contained in them.

I look at this scroll and think of the many times in our history that we carried it away from places of hatred and oppression, preserving for ourselves a higher set of ideals and principles.  The Torah that is in the display case on the east side of our Sanctuary– a survivor of the Holocaust in Czechoslovakia – symbolizes to me the remarkable endurance of this scroll and of what
Jews in less-favorable times than ours did to assure that Torah persisted.  This history calls out to us with a
demand: live up to the dedication they showed to Torah by making Torah a significant part of your own life.

The Torah is a holy document, and so, too, are people holy.  When I ask God’s blessing on someone in the presence of the Torah – you may have noticed – it is my custom to place one hand on the person and one on the Torah.  I know I am not the source of the blessing.  I am but a conduit between a holy book and a holy person, praying that this holy quality flows from one hand to the other, from a scroll to a soul and that the person who receives this infusion of holiness may be changed and elevated from that point on.

There is so much more to write and to say about being in proximity to the Torah.  Enough for now.  Suffice it to say, I hope some of the feelings that I have haltingly tried to convey can imbue you with the mystical urge of Torah that I have the privilege of experiencing every week.

        Shalom,
        Kenneth D. Roseman, Rabbi
 
From the Rabbi - September 2009 PDF Print E-mail

Dear Friends:

Phyllis and I extend our very warmest and best wishes to you for a healthy and happy new year of 5770. We hope that this will be a year of joy and happiness for you and those you care about, and a year in which our troubled world comes many steps closer to peace.

As I plan for the coming High Holydays, it has never been more apparent to me how much thought and effort we need to expend to make sure that all components of our congregation feel included in our services and other activities. Let me give you only a few examples.

Last year, the traditional service for the evening of Rosh HaShanah ended considerably earlier than the liberal service. Because of this mismatch, people who attended one service were unable to wish their friends and family from the other service Shanah Tovah. We convened a meeting of the Ritual Committee and concluded that a little give-and-take on the part of everyone might alleviate this situation. This year, both services will begin at 7:15 PM, fifteen minutes earlier for the liberal group and fifteen minutes later for the traditionalists. It is our hope that this adjustment will make it possible for all of us to congregate in the Grossman Auditorium at approximately the same time and have an all-congregation oneg Shabbat.

Many of you have read that our Ritual Committee and I spent a good deal of time reviewing applications and then interviewing some candidates for the leadership of the traditional services. As we reported to you earlier this summer, we engaged Yonina Creditor, a third-year rabbinical student at the Jewish Theological Seminary of America, to undertake this responsibility. With the tireless and dedicated help of Gary Blum, we planned our services. But Yonina is the waterfront director at the Ramah Camp in Ojai CA and cannot come to Corpus Christi before mid- September. So, on August 3-5, I made a visit to southern California and spent one entire day with her, working on details and developing a relationship. It was a long trip for eight or nine hours of conversation, but well-worth the effort. It takes just such an involvement to make sure that every detail of our combined congregation’s services goes smoothly.

One of the issues we have not yet been able to overcome is the Break-the-Fast. Our wonderful Sisterhood provides a light buffet in the hallway of the building after concluding services. All of us appreciate their thoughtful planning and execution, but there just doesn’t seem to be any way to get liberal congregants and traditional congregants to break the Yom Kippur fast together. Our services end at different times, far enough apart that a small adjustment of time won’t solve the problem. What to do? We have a devotedcrew in the kitchen who will swoop down upon the tables when the liberal congregants are leaving and make sure that the trays are replenished and the crumbs are swept up so that those who come a little later will have an identical, dignified and festive way to end their fast.

There is a word that describes what we are trying to accomplish: “inclusiveness.” What this means is simply that we want every member of CBI to feel that she or he is welcome, taken seriously and offered a menu of religious, educational and social activities that are directed to the concerns and priorities that our members express.

So, as you gather to welcome a new Jewish year, reflect for a moment that the leadership of this congregation spends a lot of time designing a program that can include you. We hope you will take advantage of that program during the coming year and that you will tell us if some of the things in which you are interested are not evident enough. We look forward to seeing a lot of you during the coming year.

Shanah Tovah.

Kenneth D. Roseman, Rabbi

 
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NOVEMBER


Friday, November 3
Shabbat Service @ 6:30 pm

Saturday,  November 4
Shabbat Service @ 9:00 am

Friday, November 10
Shabbat Service @ 6:30 pm

Saturday,  November 11
Shabbat Service @ 9:00 am

Friday,  November 17
Shabbat Service @ 6:30 pm

Saturday,  November 18
Shabbat Service @ 9:00 am

Wed, November 25
Joint Thanksgiving Service  
Church of the Good Shepherd  @ 7:30 PM.

Friday,  November 24
Shabbat Service @ 6:30 pm

Saturday,  November 25
Shabbat Service @ 9:00 am

DECEMBER

Friday,  December 1
Shabbat Service @ 6:30 pm

Saturday,  December 2
Shabbat Service @ 9:00 am


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