Rabbi Shelly Marder

May 31, 2009

On Rabbinic Leadership: A Sermon in Honor of Rabbi Janet Marder's 10th Anniversary at Congregation Beth Am

          I was invited to teach Torah tonight in honor of my wife Janet’s 10^th anniversary as rabbi of Congregation Beth Am.  But it occurred to me – as Janet and I are about to celebrate our 30^th anniversary – that I am in a unique position to do more than that.  So I’ll begin my d’var torah with a question that even the great commentator Rashi can’t answer.  In fact, it’s one of the few questions that Rashi never even asked: Who is Rabbi Janet?

          There are many answers to this question.  As best I can tell, Janet’s childhood was normal, quiet, and uneventful — except for two very early experiences that had a profound impact on her: Janet was chosen to play first triangle in a pre-school marching, rhythm band in the San Fernando Valley .  And then there was some sort of vaguely remembered trauma involving the Giant Tea Cups ride at Disneyland .  It’s now clear that these events set the stage for her election as the first female president of the Central Conference of American Rabbis.  

          As you know, Janet’s been known to speak about her commitment to serious Jewish study at the Hartman Institute in Israel —Talmud, Bible, Medieval philosophy, mysticism.  Actually, on her sabbatical, Janet was pursuing interests that most people don’t know about:  Sky-diving, bungee-jumping, dirt bike stunt driving, dog-sledding, hang gliding, and hot-air balloon racing.  Things like that.  Name a sport that’s on the edge—Rabbi Janet’s been there. 

          The truth is, Janet’s true passion is reading.  I would even call it a spiritual practice.  Whether it’s a book, a take-out menu, or a diorama — for Janet, the written word is sacred.   In terms of literature, Janet basically lives in the 19^th century.  This began, I think, back in the days of our courtship in New York City in the late 1970s, when I read aloud to her Dostoyevsky’s classic novel, The Idiot.  By the time we reached the last page, our marriage was inevitable.  Her favorite writers of the 19^th century are some of the greats: George Eliot, Thomas Hardy, Edith Wharton – and she began to take a keen interest in Jane Austen just about the time that Colin Firth played Mr. Darcy in the BBC production of Pride and Prejudice.  So, there you have it: a quick snapshot of the real Rabbi Janet.    

          Over the past few years, Janet has become very interested in art – especially painting.  When she wasn’t sky diving, Janet did a great deal of serious reading about art during her sabbatical.   And I think the book she enjoyed the most is a monograph of one of her favorite artists.  It’s called Rembrandt’s Jews – and it includes beautiful color reproductions: the synagogues of Amsterdam in the Jewish neighborhood where Rembrandt lived, the Jewish cemetery, portraits of Jews who were among his patrons.  And one painting that stands out from the rest: “Moses with the Tablets of the Law,” painted in 1659, ten years before Rembrandt’s death.

          What is so striking about this painting? 

          Mount Sinai and the Ten Commandments are bathed in golden light; Moses’ face shines with a shimmering glow.  And yet, despite the brightness of his face, Moses looks worried.  Rembrandt has painted anxiety into his eyes and brow.  We see Moses here as he descends from Mount Sinai for the second time, carrying two stone tablets to replace the first ones, which he had thrown to the ground and smashed in anger.  In this painting, we might have expected Moses to look a little triumphant—or, at least, relieved.  After all, God has given him a second chance. 

          So why the downcast, worried look?  I think Rembrandt wants us to see a Moses who is still brooding about the Golden Calf—a Moses who fears that idolatry might be awaiting him again, back at the Israelite camp.  He has good reason to worry.  Even Rembrandt’s meticulous Hebrew calligraphy hints at this: the writing on the tablets shows us only the last five commandments—the ones that begin “Thou shalt not…” — as if to underline Moses’ concern about his people’s behavior.   

          Most striking of all is that Moses is lifting those heavy slabs of stone high above his head: His powerful hands and arms are positioned exactly like someone lifting the Torah in synagogue.  In fact, Moses appears to be performing the ritual we call hagbahah—a clue that Rembrandt knew a thing or two about Jewish worship.

          Now, the last thing Janet would want me to do is compare her to Moses.  I know this because she mentions it all the time.  What’s important here is that, through this painting, Rembrandt expresses three ideas about religious leadership that are relevant to our gathering tonight: First, he shows us the spiritual radiance of the teacher’s face when bringing Torah to the people; second, he shows us a face of worry and anxiety: this is a leader concerned about whether the people are reaching high enough and living up to their ideals; and last, he shows us the ritual of hagbahah: a leader who lifts up the Torah with all the strength that leader possesses — raising the Torah high above oneself. 

          Rembrandt’s painting of Moses lifting the tablets is a good piece of art for this festival of Shavuot, and it’s a good piece of art for this night of honoring Janet.  On Shavuot we celebrate the giving of the Torah to Israel at Mount Sinai ; and tonight we honor the person whose life is dedicated to making Torah come alive at Congregation Beth Am.

          Psalm 19 is the Bible’s most profound meditation on the richness of Torah and what it does for us.  And Shavuot is the right time to take in some of its beautiful images.  Listen to these words:

God’s Torah is perfect, restoring the soul.

God’s testimony is sure, making wise the simple.
God’s precepts are right, rejoicing the heart.

God’s teachings are pure, making the eyes light up…

More to be desired than gold, sweeter than honey from the comb… 

          That last verse reminds us of one of the customs of Shavuot: We eat sweet dairy dishes because Torah is sweet and spiritually nourishing, like milk and honey.   

          So, for spiritual nourishment, let’s look at one of the key questions in our commentaries about Shavuot: Why is this holiday called “The Time of the Giving of Our Torah,” and not “The Time of the Receiving of Our Torah”?

          Here is the answer given by the 19^th century Hasidic rabbi, Menachem Mendl of Kotzk — known as the Kotzker Rebbe:  He said, “The giving of the Torah took place in the month of Sivan, but the receiving of the Torah takes place every day.  The giving of the Torah was the same for everyone, but the receiving is different for each person according to his ability to understand.” (Emet Ve-Emunah).

          Now another picture comes to mind.  It’s very different from Rembrandt’s painting of Moses.  This one is a photograph, which appears in this year’s WRJ Art Calendar—the beautiful calendar produced every year since 1913 by Women of Reform Judaism.  It’s a photograph of a woman outside among the trees and grass, wrapped in a tallit.  She is performing the ritual of hagbahah.  As this woman lifts the open scroll, sunlight penetrates the parchment: The ancient text glows with the pure light of day.       

          Hagbahah is a physically demanding ritual. Tradition requires us to hold the Torah open and wide enough to make visible three columns of the text.  The Code of Jewish Law states: “It is a mitzvah—a sacred obligation—for all men and women to see the writing” (Orah Hayyim 134).   Listen to the photographer’s own words.  She says, “So precious are the words of Torah that everyone must see them.  Rashi wrote that a person who lifts a Torah so that the congregation cannot see the words has committed an infraction as serious as someone who hurts a neighbor or causes strife in a family.  Why?  Perhaps,” she explains, “because the true essence of Torah has not been revealed unless all can see—and be included” (Jeane Vogel).

          We learn from this that inclusiveness is not an invention of the late 20^th century; it’s been a Jewish value for a long time.  The act of hagbahah means making the Torah visible and accessible to everyone.  That’s important, but it’s not enough.  We need, as well, the extraordinary sensitivity of the Kotzker Rebbe: his empowering insight that receiving the Torah happens every day, not only at Sinai, not only on Shavuot; and that receiving the Torah is a unique experience for each one of us.  

          I believe that this is the essence of Janet’s rabbinate. Lifting up the Torah, making it visible and accessible to everyone in the community—this is the first step.  But Janet’s sense of herself as a teacher and transmitter of Jewish tradition is not complete without the second part: a focus on how each person takes it in, learns it, and, over time, integrates Torah into his or her life, according to ability and need.  Shining light on the ancient parchment—making it come alive for each person.  Teaching Torah, the way the Kotzker Rebbe would have us do it, is the greatest act of spiritual and pastoral care.  For Janet, teaching Torah means not only teaching the text, but touching each person with the text.       

          I think I know why Rembrandt’s Moses has such a worried look and yet, at the same time, has that shimmering glow on his face.  Rembrandt understood the enormity of the task that a serious religious leader faces: the task of inspiring and nurturing a community one person at a time; the task of shaping a community in which each person counts and contributes.  None of that happens without a little worry and anxiety, because the reality is: the leader can do the hard work of raising the Torah and offering it — but, in the end, it’s up to each one of us to receive it.  

          That golden radiance on Moses’ face reveals something far deeper and more enduring than any worry or anxiety.  His radiance comes from an inner light that seems to penetrate his skin the way the sunlight penetrates the parchment.  As the psalmist said, “God’s teachings are pure / making the eyes light up.”  (Ps 19).   And so it is with rabbis, and so it is with your rabbi: the radiance is deep and enduring; its source is Torah and the joy that comes from sharing it. 

          Janet rises earlier than usual on Shabbat morning.  She studies the text with an artist’s discerning eye, as she prepares to teach the Torah Study class she loves so much.  Then she shleps her heavy suitcase, packed with Bible commentaries, into the car and from the car into the Beit Kehillah.  She does this because she’s a lot like the poet of Psalm 19.  She believes that bringing Torah to the people of Beth Am is “sweeter than honey from the comb” — and, for Janet, maybe even sweeter than cheesecake.