Thanks, Senator, We're Shooting for the Stars

I honor the memory and legacy of Senator Edward Kennedy and offer my condolences to his family and all who admired and loved him. I have a personal debt of gratitude with him. When I was in kindergarten, I decided that I wanted to be an astronaut. My parents told me that astronauts came from the best of the military, especially the Air Force. If I wanted to be one, I should go to the Air Force Academy. I soon had a souvenir booklet of seventies-era postcards from the Academy in my desk drawer. I especially loved the photo of the trademark chapel building against the Colorado peaks and the one of the Thunderbirds flying over the campus. Sometime around fourth grade my mother told me that Academy applicants needed the nomination of their senator or representative. At eight years old I wrote to Kennedy for his endorsement. I kept his response in the drawer with my postcards. I remember how important the stationery felt in my hands with its raised blue print in distinguished script: United States Senate and his signature at the bottom. I also remember his words: “Dear Jonathan… If you continue to perform well in school and receive good grades, I would be happy to support you for admission to the United States Air Force Academy. When you approach your junior year of high school, I hope you will write to me again about your interest…. ” Around seventh grade I learned that my aversion to motion sickness and fast spinning rides did not make for a good astronaut. But, I still remembered when I became a junior that I had a correspondence appointment with Senator Kennedy and I remember feeling nostalgic about my childhood dream of rocket missions to SkyLab.

RoosBlog’s special advisor for political Right-ness forwarded an email last Friday from an anonymous source. It was a pre-mortem reminder of Kennedy’s faults. Titled “The Last of Kennedy Dynasty [sic],” the email predictably focuses on the death of Mary Jo Kopechne at Chappaquiddick and the oft-cited stories of Kennedy mediocrity at Harvard and elsewhere. It closes with the kind of invective that shows the author to be little more than a crank with poor taste (dare I suggest that civility and discretion are laudable character traits?!): “[Kennedy] is known around Washington as a public drunk…. JERK is a better description than ‘great American.’ A blonde in every pond is his motto. Let's not allow the spin doctors make this jerk a hero -- how quickly the American public forgets what his real legacy is. Let’s keep this [email] going for truth, justice and the American way.”

Remember, there is good reason we eulogize our dead, even those who are as deeply flawed as Kennedy. In the Jewish tradition (as in Kennedy's Catholic faith), we connect atonement and forgiveness with death. The Mishnah speaks of certain types of offenses and the means by which we are forgiven for them in the eyes of God. All things require admission of wrong and reconciliation directly with those we've hurt. Some things are then righted by atonement rituals and the passing of a week; others require Yom Kippur. For the most egregious violations, death is the only means of final and complete teshuva with God. That does not mean we believe everyone becomes “good” when they die. They don't. But it does remind us that the end of a person’s life is the moment of ultimate reckoning between that person, his worst failings, and God. That’s a sacred and serious process that deserves, at a minimum, respect, dignity and decency. We also praise Kennedy at this time because the span between his worst failings and his best achievements offers the promise that we too can overcome terrible shortcomings. No reasonable person can say that Chappaquiddick was anything but a low point and a example of bad character. Neither can one reasonably say the entirety of Kennedy's life and achievements amount to being a publicly drunk jerk.

We eulogize people like Kennedy because, by virtue of their public persona, they often represent at least one thing we hoped for in our own lives. Beyond Mom and Dad, my senator's simple letter gave me the gift of believing I had official support for my boyhood dreams. I never became an astronaut and I never even applied to the Academy. But I still love space movies, especially the typical scene where, in a moment of dramatic tension, the hero asks, "I need a 'Go-No Go' for launch." I never forgot Ted Kennedy's message that if I do well, pursue success and continue to dream of being among the few to reach the highest places, I have the green light to launch. Thank you, Senator, and goodbye. I kept your letter forever.

Prepare Your Heart - It's Elul

The Jewish month of Elul starts this Thursday and that means Rosh Hashanah is almost here. Most of us consider Rosh Hashanah a high point in the Jewish year. Many, in fact, only come to temple at this time. So why not take five minutes a day to give yourself the best spiritual preparation for this sacred peak. There are two rituals characteristic of Elul that you can experience with very little effort. First, the shofar is blown each morning at shacharit services. Find a place to hear the shofar or, though it's not quite the same thing, listen on-line. Second, we read Psalm 27 and reflect on its message. Focus on this verse: "only one thing do I ask: to dwell in the house of the Lord." Ask yourself: What is the one thing I ask for the coming year? And now, what must you do to make that thing real?

As part my preparations for the Yamim Nora'im, I joined a conference call with President Obama and hundreds of rabbis this morning (organized by the Religious Action Center). This was, according to the organizers, the first such high holy day preparation conference with a sitting president. One rabbi asked President Obama, "If you were in my position to address the entire congregation on the holiest day of our year, what would you say?" He replied, "I would ask, 'Have we become so fearful and self centered that it's impossible for us to take bold steps together to help fellow Americans who really need it?' I would deliver a sermon on the need for hope to overcome fear and generosity to overcome pure self-interest." The President closed by noting that we've lost more and more faith in our ability to do anything together as a nation and he believes his most important job is to rebuild that faith and make the courageous moves required to fix chronic, serious problems in our society.

As my Chautauqua colleagues liked to say: That'll preach.

The fruit of your labors

When I planted tomato seeds in a pot in my backyard, the first sprouts through the soil brought me a little pride and excitement. When my kids brought home sunflower seeds to plant in little cups, the first sprouts also brought the promise of towering, yellow flowers that we could claim as our own produce. When the tomato sprouts were taken by a night critter and the sunflower sprouts choked because I didn't move them to a bigger pot, I was not only disappointed; I felt like the world was trying to teach me a larger lesson: ideas and future hopes will die if they are not properly cared for and protected. Maybe that was a little rabbinic grandiosity in my own mind, but the world has a way of letting us continue on a path once started. The success of Gan Mazon: MRT's Garden of Plenty has become most evident this week. Though I am not there to see them in person, I have seen the fruits of our labors. There are cucumbers and zucchini big enough to eat and give away to those in need. If my personal dabblings in gardening were a bust from which I learned something about nurturing the future, this temple garden is a comfort - a "Nachamu, Nachamu" - that reminds me we can not be shaped by our failures and disappointments alone. There is also the possibility of teshuva, return to the path we wish we had walked when given the first opportunity. The garden - a source of food for the hungry - also teaches us that acts of tzedakah help return us to our right path.

Kol HaKavod to all the Gan Mazon grow team, especially to Howard, Carly, Elmo, Mary Beth and Sara. They've harvested 20 lbs already and the soon-to-ripe tomatoes will boost that yield significantly.

When it rains...

I just started my week-long tenure on the faculty at Camp Harlam and it's not just raining, it's pouring. But, the rewards of camp transcend the worst weather. I saw Rachel, our only MRT camper this session, and she reminded me why we must double our efforts to get more kids to camp. At 13 years old, Rachel is at the point when most people leave organized Jewish life for a few decades (current research says she is likely to disappear from synagogue life for almost 30 years until she has her own children and they reach third grade). Rachel just had her bat mitzvah at the end of the school year. Lots of her friends from last summer at camp came to celebrate. Her grandparents were especially impressed by the combination of MRTSY leading services on Friday night and the camp's lasting influence on Rachel. Although she had not been signed up to return, the family decided they would do whatever it took to get Rachel back to camp. After a few phone calls to camp director Frank DeWoskin, a little scholarship help from the temple and some quick packing, Rachel was off to camp. She'll be back in religious school this fall and she'll likely stay connected to Jewish activities throughout her young adult years. I can't say that it's all camp, but her experience here at Harlam certainly helped seal her commitment to Jewish life. In a world that rains more than enough tzuris on our heads, camp is a bright spot. Even when it's pouring.

Other highlights from the first 24 hours include: a few good selichot program ideas for this year (one involving the movie Waltz with Bashir might even take off at MRT), some high holy day sermon preparations, reconnecting with Israeli staffers who returned from last year's mishlachat is the best sign I know of the global connection Jews have to each other, and the stability - growth even - of camp's enrollment numbers augurs well for all of us. More tomorrow. Shavua Tov!