The seventh graders walk into the room, rambunctious and funny. Like labrador puppies with big feet, their clumsy move into adulthood is charming and inspiring.

A tzedakah box sits on the table and I ask them to make an offering, watching as their hands stretch forward, making a game out of putting the money into the slot. “It’s not a gumball machine,” I think, but they approach the act with a level of playfulness and excited anticipation as if a prize is going to emerge from some secret passage on the other side. Some students even reach for more coins in their pocket. I could see that it felt exciting, like a magic trick, to transform the money from currency to good deed.

“You see what the body can do?” I asked. And imitated the choreographed moves: stepping toward the table where the box rested; reaching dramatically into the pocket; purveying the coin from body to box; and, stepping back, satisfied.

But then we stayed put, examining what our bodies needed to do next: count the money; distribute the money; buy things with the money that can be used to help people in need. Always pointing out that while they were responding to a concept–it is a mitzvah to give–that commandment could only be realized through action.

“Judaism is a system of action,” I said.

Then we took more steps into the forest. Prayers shawls were spread on the table alongside four sets of tefilin and one by one the kids learned how to put them on. There was a newish set and several old sets, including one that I received as a student in Madison from a Holocaust survivor who had kept his set throughout the war, in the Camps. It’s a remarkable living artifact from the Destruction. Some students waited to put those ones on; others didn’t want to go near them.

There was no pattern: some boys liked it, others didn’t. Some girls liked it, others didn’t. But all of them put their bodies into the commandment. They stood, wrapped, balanced boxes, laughed at one another, dutifully and with deep intention pronounced the required blessings, written to accompany the act.

As we stood around wrapping and unwrapping and looking at one another, I passed around a mezuzah scroll, upon which was written the Shma and V’Ahavtah, inviting the students to sing along the words in Hebrew–which they’ve sung forever–”and they shall be a sign upon your hand and a symbol between your eyes”–and they got it.

They had embodied a song they’d be singing for years, never fully knowing the words until then.

A moment of mindful awakening for these nascent adults.

Their hearts and minds in sync–ever so briefly.

When it came time to leave for their next class, they up and left, vanished in a second.

The tallises and tefillin boxes were in a tangled heap on the table beside a Tzedakah Box made heavier by their contributions.

Another Eternal Truth learned: the Teenager will always leave a mess. But what a blessing that mess is.

Well, let’s just drink a cool glass of water and get some perspective.

Here’s what we know:

1. There will NOT be a vote Tuesday night in the Park Slope Food Coop to ban Israeli products. That’s because, despite the rumors, the proposed ban is not on the agenda. And, as many have pointed out (like Ben Harris at JTA) the Park Slope Food Coop loves equally organic food AND process (not processed food) so if it’s going to be voted on, it’s got to be on the Agenda. This of course gives me a chance to dust off one of my favorite Rabbi Arthur Hertzberg quotes (deliver with disdain if you’re trying this at home): “My generation worships the Master of the Universe; your generation worships the God of Process.” My generation also convinced its philanthropists to let us spend their money on “cool Jew” parties, but that’s another matter. Anyhow…

2. If the resolution ever comes up, it’s likely to fail, which doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be opposed when it does (because it should for its inconsistency, hypocrisy, and general ineffectiveness at ending a deeply challenging religio-national battle–”Hey Hey, Ho Ho, Israeli Persimmons have to go!”) It just means it’s one of those “wrong” symbolic votes that detracts us from the real issues and people of intelligence and reason have to focus on what can really effect people’s lives, facts on the ground, as it were.

3. Every day, every hour, every minute, Israelis and Palestinians of good will are struggling with all their hearts and souls to end this horrifying conflict. There are a very large number of organizations in Israel and Palestine dedicated to the very cause of peace. And there are several members of the Knesset and the nascent Palestinian self-governance organizations that are striving to find in-roads of mutual recognition and understanding. Those need strengthening and support.

4. A boycott of Israeli products to End the Occupation is not the Montgomery Bus Boycott or Divestment from South Africa. Why? Because each historical situation is unique unto itself. And while it may be true that the boycotts in the South or threats of divestment from South Africa helped shift political fortunes, it’s also true that great leadership–both internal and external–brought along the necessary changes to each society. King-Kennedy-Johnson or Mandela-FW De Clerk–all of whom made monumentally brave choices to bring transformation to their societies–must be remembered as critical to the endeavor. Banning Sabra Hummus (and let’s face it, Abraham’s is too chunky) just isn’t going to do the trick.

5. Isn’t it interesting that Bibi isn’t rushing to form this supposedly mandated “Right Wing” government? Isn’t it interesting that we are reading, each day, very real negotiations for the release of Gilead Shalit, the release of known terrorists, peace talks with Syria, sanctioned talks with Iran? What’s going on exactly? Leadership, despite it’s generally debased state in the Middle East, is trying in its own weird way, to do what’s true and just? Will it succeed? We don’t know–but we should help it along, not distract it from the meaningless and symbolic gestures of neighborhood self-satisfaction.

6. The kumquats. Yes. I end with the kumquats. One time Rachel and I took a trip up to the Galilee with my friend Jeffrey ( a Jewish travel writer), his cousin Larry ( a doctor from Long Island ) and their friend Hussein ( a Palestinian student from Jerusalem ). Rachel, Larry and I squeezed into the back of our car and Jeffrey and Hussein navigated from the front. We headed due North, through Ramallah, the West Bank, past checkpoints, and eventually up to the Galilee and Golan Heights, where we spent a few days checking out restaurants, archaeological sites, hostels, and beaches. It was a good time. Every half hour or so, Jeffrey offered us kumquats, which he had proudly purveyed from a roadside vendor. The cultures we represented in the car were, in no particular order, Russian, Polish, German, Egyptian, Armenian, Jerusalemite, and American. The cultures and religious traditions we moved in and around throughout our journey North were: Jewish, Christian, Muslim, Druse, and a remarkably inhospitable Scotsman. We swam in history and tradition while trading stories of growing up in Baltimore, Milwaukee, Long Island, and Jerusalem. And by the end of the weekend, our place of origin was not what we thought it was but more like, I don’t know, the car.

We came from the car.

The car was where we moved in and out of space and time, over and across borders, through and around checkpoints, Jews and a Muslim, faithful and skeptical, but bound by friendship and yes, Larry’s goddamn kumquats.

I don’t remember if they were Israeli kumquats or Palestinian kumquats but I remember that they were bright orange and sour and bitter and still had green leaves attached and that we made someone happy by spending a few shekels on them.

And I’d like to think that we made the tree happy too. And the earth that nurtured the tree. And the water that fed the earth. And the God–who gave the land to all the people–to eat, to be satisfied, and to bless.

Which brings me back to the Park Slope Food Coop.

And its good food: like apples and peppers and persimmons and hummus.

Made by people of good will who are making food, not war.

Peace, in other words, begins and ends with people. Great people.

“My generation worships the Master of the Universe; yours worships the God of Process.”

How true.

To lament the lack of heroes in the time of the Bible, the authors once said, “How the mighty have fallen!”

We should demand great leadership from Israelis and great leadership from Palestinians. We should demand courage from Israelis and courage from Palestinians. We should demand great risk from Israelis and great risk from Palestinians.

But we should leave the kumquats out of it.

I can’t do it.

I’m just not ready.

So the journey continues.

Many of you have been very generous in your comments–in public and private emails–and I want to sincerely express my gratitude for your reading this blog, taking the ideas seriously, and helping shape our community in all the ways you do.

I would still very much like to write the book, which I am committed to doing.

Therefore: I’ll attempt to post here on three days during the week and in the spirit of the Tradition, will do so on Mondays, Thursdays and Saturdays.

In the times of the Mishnah, they say, the marketplace was open on those days and so the Rabbis decreed that Torah should be read. Not that what you’ll read here is Torah, but let those be the days when we can toss some serious ideas around. And with regard to Saturdays, well, one reader said he wished I’d regularly post some thoughts related to the Parshah (Weekly Torah Reading) for Shabbat. Good suggestion.

What did Rabbi Akiva say? “I noticed water dripping on a rock for years and years until I realized the shape of the rock changed?” That’s me. Duh.

In the Foreward to Witold Rybczynski’s book, Home, the architect quotes Milan Kundera: “To be a writer does not mean to preach a truth, it means to discover a truth.”

I’m not a writer but a rabbi who likes to write so I’ll paraphrase and say that this blog and the work we do here in Brooklyn is meant to teach Torah and discover this particular community’s collection of truths.

Here’s to the re-dedication of that pursuit.

~~~

NB: Later this week I’ll be moving this page to Blogger but you’ll find it easily accessed at andybachman.com.

What began with books, ends with books.

I am no longer posting here but focusing any extra time on writing a book.

Thank you all for reading, commenting, and sharing this enterprise with me these last several years.

Andy

Here’s a cool little tool for seeing where you stand vis a vis the Israeli elections.

Click HERE.

Last night Jon Stewart joked about the divided Israeli electorate and the divided Palestinian leadership, asking, “Are we now talking about a 4 State Solution?! How many States do you people want?!”

It was a pretty funny and accurate summation of what’s partially wrong here.

Yesterday afternoon a friend sent a link to the Israel Policy Forum’s new web-launch (it looks good–congratulations, by the way.)

But the new launch begs the question about how the American 2-State Solution Jewish peace camp organizes (or disorganizes) itself.

Even though I usually agree with everything IPF puts out there, I have a similar feeling about it’s new look, partly done I’m sure in response to J Street’s appearance on the scene, as I do to my general reaction to the Knesset and Israeli politics–made all the more clear by this last meaningless election.

There are too many parties and too much money spent that could be consolidated.

In DC today, there is at least J Street and IPF and American Friends of Peace Now and Meretz USA and Brit Tzedek v’Shalom and they are all essentially the same. That’s five American Left Wing Jewish groups arguing for essentially the same solution. One wonders how much money would be saved and what efficiencies in their message delivery could be achieved by a merger. All extra funds could be donated to Beth Elohim, by the way.

This is true across the board in organized Jewish life–how many organizations fight anti-Semitism, for instance?

While banks collapse, I wonder what would things look like if there were a consolidated effort to get a grip on communal dollars spent in organized Jewish life? Who would sit at that table? Could anyone dictate terms? Does your average Jew even realize what those budgets look like?

Professional academics out there: Do this study! Answer this call!

California is working with “mandates” to get compliance on greener energy. We need something similar here in New York State and as others have pointed out, Obama has a clear mandate of his own to get this rolling out from the Federal level as well.

It’s so depressing watching government trip all over itself to fight old fights while real problems remain unresolved. The winners in this next era of our history–here in America, there in Israel–will be those willing to break new ground and move in new directions, attempting to simply solve problems.

I don’t see much progress coming out of Israel’s attempt to fix its electoral challenges but I remain convinced that the smartest and most selfless thing that Tzipi and Bibi and Ehud could do would be to form a government, bargain hard for two states, make the right moves vis a vis Iran, and position Israel to concentrate on a proper constitution and reformed electoral system.

The reality all over the world today is that our era is truly about making tough choices–there is just no way around that.

Here’s an easy piece of wisdom that’s hard as hell to follow: making things better requires incredibly hard work and alot of sacrifice. But in the end, it’s worth it. Boring, I know. But true. Impossible to get around that one.

That’s what the true meaning of “yes we can.”

The smartest thing Israeli leaders could do right now would be for Kadima, Likud and Labor to join a National Unity Government, move toward negotiating a very, very tough two-state solution, write a Constitution once and for all, and pass major electoral reform.

I hope this is the path that Tzipi Livni takes.

===

Barry Rubin sums it up in the Jerusalem Post. I find it hard to argue with this.

I finished Orwell’s “Coming Up for Air” and that didn’t make me feel too much better about turning 46 next week, though I laughed alot.

I wonder if it’s because Orwell himself died at age 46, from complications related to tuberculosis.

I ran into a journalist on Sunday who reads Orwell too, and appears to be about my age as well. I told him I had just finished “Coming Up for Air,” and he said, “Few people have read that one. He died at 46, you know.”

That’s why I read it, I told him.

“Mid-life crisis?” he asked.

No, I said, just dealing with ghosts, and in my case, they look like hearts.

The painter Lucian Freud was among those summoned to Orwell’s bedside before he died.

One of my kids loves to relax by looking at Lucian Freud’s collections.

Big fleshy bodies with hearts beating, inside.

Yesterday at a cemetery in New Jersey, an American Flag was presented to the widow of a lovely and inspiring man, a long-retired teacher and veteran of the Second World War, who was laid to rest. One soldier, after meticulously folding the flag with a devotion I often don’t even show to my tallis, then stood on a hill overlooking graves and the industrial mess of New Jersey and played “Taps.”

I stood there thinking of my own father, a veteran of the same war, who wasn’t particularly interested in my serving in the Army when it would have been my turn, in 1981, and even mildly encouraged a real conscientious look at President Reagan’s ruling that young men register for Selective Service in order to qualify for student loans, before eventually concluding, “A college loan is better than time in jail, son.”

Wars for oil or to defend dictatorships in Central America didn’t have the same glory as his battles, and even Orwell’s character, jaded by the First World War, had to admit the necessity of fighting Hitler in the 1930s and 1940s.

But my call to service would came later, at 46, just when I begin to worry about dying.

And so to face the fear, there is service to a country in crisis. Our leader went on television tonight, facing that blinding glow of expectation, a restless electorate, a hounding opposition, and a snarky media.

Sunday I buried an 88 year old man; tomorrow I bury a young woman of 36. In my struggle to make sense of it all, I sit on those 45 years of mine, wondering what each day brings and what I’ve made of it.

Sometimes my prayers take me back; other times my prayers lead me far beyond. And days like these I live for dimensions smaller than today. For just now, which is already gone.

Tomorrow night I start reading to the kids “Animal Farm” as their bedtime book.

I wonder what they’ll think of it. How they’ll make sense of it all.

Talking animals!

I actually think it’s good that Obama has stumbled in the early going. Being President of the United States is a massive undertaking and the overly high expectations and nearly messianic fervor that was greeting his ascendancy was impeding the ability to see the forest for the trees.

The problem of Daschle is an essential corrective. It provides an opportunity to draw back the curtain, expose the raw pursuit of power behind the rhetoric (without apologies–it’s how the job gets done, folks) and set oneself on the right track.

Painful as the short-term failure may appear, in the long-run, it’s for the best.

Nothing wrong with a re-start.

Tonight in the Basic Judaism class we looked at a text from the Talmud Tractate Ta’anit about a scholar on his way back from a great lesson at the Beit Midrash, who, in his arrogance, insulted a common man standing by the side of the road. Even in his attempt to apologize, the common man reminded the sage that the real being he sinned against was God. And that if this teacher, overly impressed with himself was a leader, well, it called into question the town’s definition of Rabbi.

The sage received the teaching from the more humble man and the town agreed to keep him in check, re-establishing a kind of covenantal relationship between the Leader-Teacher and the People.

What I found so impressive about Obama’s apology to the media was its immediacy and humility. The willingness to admit the mistake and to take responsibility. In fact, beyond the messianic hope of “Yes We Can” is the arguably more important posture: nobody’s perfect and we’re not afraid to admit that when it happens.

That’s true leadership.

“Be as gentle as the Reed and never as unyielding as the Cedar,” is the Talmud’s moral of the story for the arrogant sage and the correcting citizen.

Each of us must always be open to admitting the error of our ways at times, and equally open to giving the benefit of the doubt to the other.

So that we can continue to down the path we were intended to walk.