Viewing glasses flew off shelves as a complete solar eclipse swept darkness over much of the continental United States in August of 2017. Hardcore eclipse enthusiasts and casual observers alike stared into the darkened afternoon sky; many Muslims recited eclipse prayers together in mosques, homes and workplaces.
On my way home that day, my eye caught a Cambridge yard sign reading: “Eclipse Hate.” My gut wrenched as I was taken — from the sweet afternoon memories of people marveling together with strangers on sidewalks, passing eclipse glasses back and forth with generous enthusiasm — to the darkness of the white nationalist, Nazi sympathizers with their tiki torches blazing, weapons menacing, swarming the streets and green spaces of Charlottesville, Virginia.
How can we, as individuals and communities, intervene in countering this destructive hate and fear that brews beneath the surface of our polity? How can we prevent it from again instigating violence and causing havoc? What can we learn from the peace activists and clergy of all colors and cloths who amassed a counter presence with prayer and song in a testament to the resilience of the human spirit?
With the rise of isolationism, nativism, rampant fear-mongering, the spread of American-made weapons around the globe, and even the proposals from those in positions of power for increased militarization of our schools and workplaces, what wisdom can be derived from core texts, teachings and traditions? How do we understand our seemingly innate capacities for monstrosity? How can we overcome our more destructive collective impulses? What can help us bridge divides, counter hate, and stand up for those whose safety and security are most threatened? What interventions does the present moment necessitate?
These questions are the heart of my work.
Celene Ibrahim, PhD, is currently the Muslim chaplain at Tufts University. She will be returning to Mercy by the Sea on June 15, 2019 to facilitate the day program, “Social Justice and Qur’anic Social Ethics: Contemporary Explorations.” Learn more about her program.
The Jewish world is preparing for Passover (Pesach), which begins this year at sundown on Friday, April 19. Why is it that there is more preparation for Passover than for all other holidays? In fact, much of the actual holiday is about the ways that we prepare.
So much to consider! There is cleaning and cooking and selecting a Haggadah, the text used at the Seder to tell the story of the exodus from Egypt, and considering the meaning of words that we say each and every year, words that take on new meaning each and every year.
Consider the words: “Let all who are hungry come and eat.” How do we honor this tradition? On Passover and every day, what do we do to assure that all who are hungry can come and eat? We can give to our local food pantries, work to support legislation that helps to alleviate hunger, and lest we find the task overwhelming, how about inviting others to our own table. Our restaurant culture cannot replace the breaking of bread together in our own homes. In fact, the very word “companion” comes from the French word for bread, “pain.” Breaking bread together creates companions. Indeed, there is so much wisdom in the instruction: “Let all who are hungry come and eat.”
Cleaning for Pesach is like no other cleaning. Getting rid of all chametz (leaven) requires emptying closets and refrigerators and assuring that not even one bread crumb escapes our brooms and sponges. It is the original “spring cleaning.” But those who think it is strictly a physical cleaning are mistaken. We rid ourselves of chametz, which are any grains that contain leaven and are therefore ”puffed up.“ So too, it is while on our hands and knees cleaning the floor that we can best consider the ways we ”puff ourselves up“ with pride and an inflated sense of self and lack of awareness about our weaknesses.
How self-protective we are! A little humility goes a long way. None of us is perfect. Our weaknesses help define us as human. Acknowledging those weaknesses is, in this season of freedom, its own kind of liberation.
One of the most important lines in the Haggadah is “In every generation we are called upon to see ourselves as though we our own selves escaped from Egypt.” It is a line that shouts out to us today: Remember where you came from! Remember that you came from slavery! Remember that you are a child of immigrants! And more: Remember that you yourself are an immigrant. Maybe, just maybe, if we can see ourselves as immigrants, we will start treating others with more respect, dignity and welcoming embrace.
And one more final line in every Haggadah: “Next year in Jerusalem.” These words were never taken literally. Though it would surely be lovely to make a commitment to spend time in Jerusalem in the coming year, the phrase always reminds us of our hope in something greater than today, greater than the here and now. The Hebrew words Yerushalayim translate as “City of Peace.” Would that we could create that city of peace all over the world. What a soaring conclusion to Passover that would be.
As we anticipate Passover, we greet each other with the Yiddish words: “A Zissen Pesach!” May it be a sweet Passover holiday.
L’Shalom
Rabbi Stacy Offner joined Temple Beth Tikvah in Madison, Connecticut, in 2012. She was the founding Rabbi of Shir Tikvah Congregation in Minneapolis where the congregation grew from 40 to 400 households under her leadership. She then served as the Vice President of the Union for Reform Judaism (URJ)where she shared her love of congregational life with the URJ’s 900 synagogues. Before joining Temple Beth Tikvah, Rabbi Offner served as the Interim Rabbi at Adath Emanu-El in Mt. Laurel, N.J. Recognized as a pioneer in many ways since her ordination in 1984, Rabbi Offner was honored with her own wikipedia page. A magna cum laude graduate of Kenyon College, Rabbi Offner earned both her M.A. and Doctor of Divinity, honoris causa, from Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion.
“The second half of my life will be ice breaking up on the river, rain soaking the fields, a hand held out, a fire, and smoke going upward, always up.”
I begin this reflection on second half of life spirituality with an excerpt from Joyce Sutpen’s poem “Crossroads.” With so many poems on the topic from which to choose, I picked Sutpen’s for its evocative imagery and its outright acknowledgement that we can choose to thrive in the second half of our lives. In just a few lines, the poet describes some of the beautiful gifts we can anticipate.
People came from 13 states and Canada to attend the New England School of Celtic Consciousness with John Philip Newell held at and in collaboration with Mercy by the Sea. The second annual gathering drew 170 participants; all seekers wanting to deepen their knowledge of Celtic Christian wisdom.
In 2016, John Philip founded the School of Celtic Consciousness with the conviction that Celtic wisdom is “urgently” needed at this moment in time. “The instinct for seeing the sacredness in all things is rising again,” he said. John Philip also observes a widespread spiritual yearning for a deeper integration of the feminine and the masculine.
On my way home that day, my eye caught a Cambridge yard sign reading: “Eclipse Hate.” My gut wrenched as I was taken — from the sweet afternoon memories of people marveling together with strangers on sidewalks, passing eclipse glasses back and forth with generous enthusiasm — to the darkness of the white nationalist, Nazi sympathizers with their tiki torches blazing, weapons menacing, swarming the streets and green spaces of Charlottesville, Virginia.