The Fly Fishing Rabbi

Fly Fishing and Conservation

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Eric Eisenkramer) — Mon, 12 Dec 2011 11:52:00 +0000

When first learning to fly fish, all of our energies are consumed in mastering the basics; getting the right gear, learning to cast, becoming comfortable wading through the stream. Then we hook our first trout. When the line goes taut, our adrenaline spikes. We somehow manage to get the fish to the net and break out in a wide smile, whether the fish is a eight inch brown or an eighteen inch rainbow.

We begin to become comfortable in our own skin as anglers and we have held a good number of trout in our hands. Then at some point when waist deep in the cold water stream, we pause and look around. We see the yellow, orange and red leaves of Fall. We hear the sound of the water flowing over the rocks. We realize that the trout stream is a Garden of Eden, paradise, a perfect place in all of creation. And we come to understand that the rivers we love are fragile and need our help to thrive.

Trout can only live in cold pure water streams. When temperature and pollution levels run too high, the rivers can longer support the sleek salmonids. There is a long list of human activities that threaten trout streams, but perhaps the most fundamental is our ever-expanding use of our earth’s limited resources. If our grandchildren are to fish the same streams where we cast a fly today, we must find a way to live in harmony with the trout, so that they too can flourish.

Conservation in fly fishing begins with the desire to give back. We receive so much from a day on the stream that enriches us, the excitement of a rising fish, the peace and harmony of being in nature, the joy of holding a beautiful trout in our hands. And we come to realize that we too can give back a little to the fish, the rivers and to our planet.

Caring for the trout stream can begin with the smallest of steps. I am always disturbed when I see trash in a river or on the banks. How someone would want to ruin such a beautiful and perfect place? So when casting a fly, I pick up the empty beer can or plastic bag and shove them in my waders to throw away later.

Catch and release is an important part of conserving the precious resource that is the trout themselves. If we kept all of the fish that we caught, our streams would soon be empty. I also take steps to help ensure that the trout will survive its brief time out of the water. I do not play the fish to exhaustion. I wet my hands before picking up the trout from the net, as the oils on our hands can harm the fish. If I take a picture, I do so quickly, and then return the trout gently to its watery home.

Conservation is such a natural part of fly fishing, that anglers have banded together to increase their efforts to aid the rivers that we love. Trout Unlimited, www.tu.org, boasts a membership of over 100,000 anglers. Local chapters of TU organize stream clean-ups and educational programs. At the national level, TU works to advocate for protecting the cold-water streams where trout thrive. I am a proud member of the Candlewood Lake TU chapter in Connecticut. The Federation of Fly Fishers, www.fedflyfishers.org, has as its motto “conserving, restoring, educating through fly fishing,” and has projects that focus on native trout and protecting against the spread of invasive plant and algae species that harm rivers and streams.

God placed the first human beings in the Garden of Eden to till and to tend it. We are to work the land, to till it, to use it for our benefit. Yet we must also tend to it and protect it. In our Garden of Eden, the trout stream, we as anglers likewise seek ways to tend to the stream and to the fish to ensure that our rivers will continue to flourish for all the generations to come.

Fly Fishing and Compassion

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Eric Eisenkramer) — Mon, 29 Aug 2011 10:00:00 +0000

Compassion is a core value in many religious traditions. Judaism teaches that everyone, no matter how poor, must give tzedakah, charity, to remember that there is always someone out there in a more difficult situation. Jews must also visit the sick, feed the hungry and perform gemilut hasadim, acts of loving kindness.

A day of fly fishing in Argentina this spring reminded me that compassion can occur on a stream as well. Although not in the famous fly fishing region of Patagonia, my guide Lucas and I spent a few days fishing the streams of Cordoba Province. On the third and final day, completely exhausted, I cast my black woolly bugger into a deep pool. When I tried to lift the fly, it would not budge.

For the next ten minutes it felt like trying to pull a safe through the stream. The rainbow trout that I finally held in my hands Lucas estimated to be 22 inches and 5 pounds. It was twice the size of anything I had ever caught before. I was giddy.

After the requisite pictures, I held the fish in my two hands. I paused for a moment to appreciate its beauty. I thought briefly of keeping the trout for dinner. But then I realized that this magnificent fish should live another day, and I released her back into the stream.

When you have the power to harm someone or something, and you choose not to, you have preformed an act of great compassion. I could have easily kept or killed that fish. But I realized that despite my power over the trout, I needed to be kind and let it go. Catch and release fly fishing teaches us to have compassion for those fish, and perhaps ultimately those people, over whom we have power.

Choosing not to harm others out of compassion applies well beyond the stream. Managers know that they can make their employees miserable. They can also choose to act with kindness and try to understand the employees’ perspective. In family life, we all know what to say to our spouses, siblings and parents to make them angry or to hurt their feelings. In every relationship, we have the power to harm those that we love. But we have another choice as well, to be kind. Just as I held that fish in my two hands, we hold the strings to the hearts and souls of our loved ones. We too can choose the path of compassion and kindness.

While I release the vast majority of fish that I catch, I also keep the occasional trout. As a rabbi, I have no moral objections to keeping fish for sustenance. However, the act of releasing a fish can also teach us lessons about compassion that extend far beyond the stream. The Hebrew word for compassion, rachamim, is also related to the word for womb. Just as a mother cares for a child, we too are to care for others. In fly fishing, as in all of life, our task is to reach towards this high standard of compassion, to treat others with kindness and to use our power not to harm but to help.

John Gierach Fly Fishing Books Giveaway!

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Eric Eisenkramer) — Mon, 27 Jun 2011 10:09:00 +0000

This spring, I received copies of two new books by the famous fly fishing author John Gierach: No Shortage of Good Days and Another Lousy Day in Paradise and Dances with Trout. I will be giving them away to readers of the Fly Fishing Rabbi Facebook page.

To be eligible to win a free fly fishing book, please “like” the Fly Fishing Rabbi Facebook page here:

Fly Fishing Rabbi

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Four winners will be chosen at random, two for each book, from the followers of the Facebook page on July 15^th, 2011. More information on the books from the publisher is below. I hope you enjoy them!

The Fly Fishing Rabbi

Eric Eisenkramer

With more than a dozen previous books, John Gierach has earned “placement among fishing’s A-list literary writers” (Booklist). Gierach’s latest, NO SHORTAGE OF GOOD DAYS collects twenty essays on the art of fishing and the pleasures of outdoor life, all served up with his trademark humor and clear-sighted wisdom about his favorite sport, and even more so, life. And his legion of devoted readers will celebrate the reissue of two of Gierach’s earlier classics, Another Lousy Day in Paradise and Dances with Trout, published together for the first time in a single trade paperback volume

NO SHORTAGE OF GOOD DAYS takes Gierach from the mountain streams of his hometown Rockies to the Appalachians in Tennessee, from the Atlantic coast of Canada in pursuit of salmon to the west coast extremes of Alaska and Baja California. He fishes waters both familiar and foreign, sometimes alone, sometimes in the company of trusted friends, fellow enthusiasts, and local guides. Whether enduring the heat or cold, rain, mosquitoes, or the ignorance of others, Gierach surveys it all with equanimity and a philosophy gained from a lifetime of fishing: “constant exposure to the ordinary is good for the soul.” A gentle, non-combative partner with nature, his beliefs on the value of conservation and the importance of catch-and-release requirements ring through as strongly as his love for fishing.

Fly Fishing & Frustration

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Eric Eisenkramer) — Mon, 17 Jan 2011 08:00:00 +0000

Fly fishing is filled with times of frustration: getting rained out on the stream, losing a fly in a low hanging branch, being unable to thread your thin tippet line through the hole of a tiny little hook because your hands are too cold. One time I drove an hour from home to fish a new river. When I opened the trunk to put on my gear, I discovered that I had my vest and net, but had left my fly fishing rod at home.

Perhaps the ultimate frustration in fly fishing is not catching any fish. Sometimes no matter how advanced our casting skills, or how perfectly tied our flies, the fish simply will not rise. When getting skunked for hours, I try to rationalize the situation, saying: “I’ll just use this time to practice my casting.” That usually does not work for long. The sport is called fly fishing, not fly casting.

Picture: Battenkill River in Vermont.

Over the years, I realized that frustration from not catching fish usually has to do with expectations. When I first taught myself to fly fish, I was lucky to see one or two bites in an entire afternoon. I was thrilled the first time I caught a trout on a dry fly, a small rainbow of about eight inches. I was not frustrated by the other three hours of fishing because I was just learning.

After that first trout, I began to develop expectations. As my skills developed and my casting improved and I could catch more fish, my expectations only continued to rise. Today, a few hours on the stream that do not yield a single bite can cause some serious angst.

Expectations in life can be a good thing. When a baseball coach demands one hundred and ten percent, it pushes the player to new levels of athletic achievement. When a teacher gives a difficult assignment but the student works hard and succeeds, she learns and grows. When a parent expects a child to do chores, apply himself and to treat others with respect, he becomes a better person

In religion, expectations are important as well. The Torah, the Hebrew Bible, contains 613 commandments, each one containing an expectation of behavior. When Rabbi Hillel was asked what is the most important command of Judaism he said: “That which is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow. That is the whole Torah; the rest is the commentary.” Likewise, God expects ethical behavior from us all. The prophet Micah said: “God has told you, O man, what is good, and what the Lord requires of you: Only to do justice and to love goodness, and to walk humbly with your God.”

Expectations from teachers, from coaches and even from religion can be a good thing when they motivate us to do better or to be better. But expectations on the fly fishing stream are probably a waste of time. Not too long ago, someone asked me for the most important tip in fly fishing. I said to him: “Be sure to look up from the river every once in a while, take a breath of air, hear the soft sound of the flowing water, and appreciate the beauty of all that surrounds you.” In fly fishing, when I expect to catch trout, I am guaranteed to be frustrated sometimes. When I expect to be out in nature, to soak in the solitude of the stream and to leave behind the stress of the world, I find fulfillment.

Picture: On Mt. Equinox in Vermont.

I may still get frustrated when not a single fish rises. When that happens, I will try to remember that time I went fly fishing and left my rod behind. After I discovered that I could not fish, I decided to go hiking along the stream. I saw deer and ducks. I got stuck in “sinking mud,” almost becoming a permanent resident of the stream. I spent time outside, in nature, and I was able to look around, to relax and to appreciate the beauty of our world. And I learned that sometimes you do not need a rod and reel to have a good time on the river.

Fly Fishing the Famous Beaverkill River in Roscoe, New York

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Eric Eisenkramer) — Mon, 08 Nov 2010 16:14:00 +0000

Probably the most famous fly fishing river in the Northeast, the Beaverkill begins at Junction Pool in Roscoe New York, where hundreds of fishermen and women test their skills each spring. Roscoe is the center of fly fishing in the Catskills. For over 100 years, the Beaverkill, Willowemec, Delaware and other streams have attracted the preeminent fly fishers in America including Theodore Gordon, Art Flick and Joan and Lee Wulff. Roscoe, New York calls itself “Trout Town USA” and the Catskills soon became known as the birthplace of American Fly Fishing.

For the East Coast fly fisher, a trip to the Beaverkill River is like a pilgrimage, a journey to a sacred place. In ancient times, Jews used to travel to the Temple in Jerusalem three times a year to offer sacrifices to God. Today, a trip to Israel remains a sacred pilgrimage for Jews, a way to connect to the past and the Bible. While I would not put Roscoe New York on the same spiritual plane as the Temple in Jerusalem, for many fly fishers the Beaverkill River is a sacred site, a place like no other in America to cast a fly.

In October 2001, I drove to Roscoe for a fly fishing trip that felt like more than a normal few days on the stream. It was only a few weeks after 9/11. From my apartment in Brooklyn, I could still smell the smoke coming from the remains of the twin towers. New York City felt like a war zone, and I needed some time away, a safe place in a world that felt upside-down.

After a two hour car trip, I arrived at Roscoe New York, population 597. Every pilgrimage has rituals, and a trip to Roscoe is no different. I ate at the Roscoe Diner, I visited the local fly shop to get some gear and good advice, and I checked into a local B&B. Finally, it was time to go fishing.

As I had been looking forward to fly fishing the Beaverkill for a long time, I could not help imagining what would happen when I finally cast my line. I dreamt of a beautiful river, filled with large rising trout. On a perfect fall day, I would be the only person around for miles, and I would catch and release fish after fish for hours.

Picture: The Beaverkill River

Needless to say, my dreams for this fly fishing pilgrimage were a bit unrealistic. Junction Pool was too crowded, the Beaverkill River was low that year, and I got skunked for two days, not catching a single trout. I realized that while the pools of the Beaverkill might be famous, for me that day they were also fishless.

On my second day of fly fishing, when the streams would not yield a bite, I decided to abandon my fly rod and go for a hike. I climbed to the top of one of the hills which was very steep, and I looked around. Trees covered the Catskill Mountains in all directions, the leaves were turning brilliant yellows and oranges. I had never witnessed such a beautiful fall scene in my life. As I stood on top of the hill, I realized that I had completed my pilgrimage. The sacred site that I was looking for was not Junction Pool or the Beaverkill River. It was on top of that mountain, where I felt in awe of the beauty of nature.

View from the top of a Catskill Mountain in the Fall of 2001

A fly fishing pilgrimage is about taking the time to escape the everyday, about traveling to a place that is far from the ordinary. This type of journey can be a search for safety in a post 9/11 world, a return to nature and simplicity when human society seems so distorted. A pilgrimage is also about connecting to the past. I may not have caught a fish in Roscoe, but knowing that I was fishing the same rivers as Theodore Gordon and other greats made me feel grounded and authentic.

Perhaps the ultimate goal of a pilgrimage is enlightenment. Standing on top of a hill in Roscoe in the fall, I realized that I had completed my pilgrimage. The sacred site that I was looking for was on top of that hill, where I experienced the awe and beauty of a fall day in the mountains.

The Drive to The Trout Stream

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Eric Eisenkramer) — Mon, 11 Oct 2010 15:56:00 +0000

There is something special about the drive to the river. It is a time of transition, as we leave behind our everyday lives and focus only on the stream, the fly rod and the trout. Whether a two hour drive to a local stream our a two day trek to famous rivers in far off countries, the journey to the water can be an opportunity to separate from the world of work and obligation and to enter a quiet, beautiful and natural place.

One August morning a few years ago, I arose well before dawn and packed my waders, vest and rods into the truck for the drive to a trout park in rural Missouri. I was too excited to sleep, because that day was my only opportunity to cast a fly in my home state for the entire year.

Living in Connecticut, trips to my hometown of St. Louis are infrequent at best, and the chance to visit a Missouri trout stream even more rare. It was pitch black when I pulled the rental car out of the hotel and began the drive to the stream. I was determined to arrive at the stream at dawn, if not before.

An hour later I pulled off the interstate and began final leg of my trip down a long rural road. With the stars still in the sky, the first light of dawn was beginning to appear in the eastern sky. I rolled down my widow to feel the warm summer air. I sped up and down small hills and around curves.

Fields of grass began to appear on my right and left as the sky turned from black to blue. It was only the on-coming headlights of the occasional car in the other lane that reminded me that other human beings even existed. For that half hour drive down that rural Missouri road, I was at one with the sound of the wind, the bends in the road and the rising dawn. It was a beautiful drive that put me at peace.

Appreciating the journey and not only the destination is a lesson that Moses learned while guiding the Israelites through the desert. For forty years, Moses led the people from one stop to another, responding to their complaints, pleading for them when they strayed from God, guiding and protecting them. Moses had to learn to enjoy the journey since he knew that he would not make it to the Promised Land.

At the end of his life, Moses stood on Mt. Nebo in modern-day Jordan, surveyed the land, and knew that his task had come to an end. He died on that mountain, his vigor unabated, and we hope, taking consolation in all that he had accomplished.

Like Moses, we will not make it to all of the Promised Lands in our lives. We will fall short of our goals, our accomplishments will only take us so far before we leave this earth. Our task then is to savor every moment as this poem by Rabbi Alvin Fine teaches:

Birth is a beginning
And death a destination.
And life is a journey:
From childhood to maturity
And youth to age;
From innocence to awareness
And ignorance to knowing;
From foolishness to discretion
And then, perhaps, to wisdom…

Birth is a beginning
And death a destination.
And life is a journey,
A sacred pilgrimage—
To life everlasting.

Fly fishing is almost always about the journey and not the destination, the process and not the end result. Getting skunked, not catching a single trout on a day of fly fishing, is a more common occurrence than many of us fly fishers would like to admit. When the trout are elusive or our flies simply the wrong size or color, we can give in to feelings of frustration. Or we can take a few moments to appreciate everything else that happens while on the stream; the flowing river, the trees, the meditative feeling of casting the rod. Every time we get skunked, we remember it is called fishing not catching, and that perhaps that is a good thing.

When I arrived at the Trout Park in Missouri, I quickly discovered that the stream was crowded and the fish, while plentiful, showed no interest in my flies, preferring the live bait of my fellow anglers. While it is always good to go fishing even if not single trout will rise, looking back, I came to realize that the drive to the stream, and the peace and solitude of the dawn, were the best part of that day.

Places to Fish in Israel with Maps

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Eric Eisenkramer) — Wed, 06 Oct 2010 00:41:00 +0000

I recently came across a great website that gives detailed fishing reports for fishing spots in Israel: www.fishinginisrael.info. Put together by Nigel Ridley, each article contains descriptions of the fishing spot along with pictures and maps of where to fish. Below are two of Nigel's articles, with many more to be found on his site. Enjoy! The Fly Fishing Rabbi

Saltwater Fishing Spot In Israel: Tel Dor

South of Haifa, the coastline from Kibbutz Nachsholim to just before the beach at Habonim (where you're not allowed to fish - it's a nature reserve) offers some very good rock and reef fishing. All along this stretch of coastline there is a submerged rock plateau. It is strangely flat and wide with a covering of sea water of about 10cm on a calm day. This plateau enables the angler to fish in deep water even right next to it's edge.

Further out there are reefs so bottom fishing is not really feasible but float fishing, spinning or fishing with crankbaits will certainly pay off with some good sized fish. There are quite a variety of fish species to be had from the smaller ones that inhabit the seaweed covered rocks to larger ones such as barracuda, little tunny, spotted seabass, members of the grouper family and others. The best times to fish though are, like most other places along the coast, around dawn and dusk when the larger fish move closer inshore from the deeper water.

Just a word of warning: the submerged plateau is dotted with potholes here and there, so be careful where you are stepping especially in the dark. During the summer months it is not a problem standing in the water in a pair of sandals but if you intend fishing in when the water temperature is not so warm, then you will need a pair of waders at least.

Getting There

Turn off the Coastal Highway at the Zichron Ya'akov Interchange and turn left at the Faradis junction. Pass through Faradis and turn left towards Kibbutz Nachsholim immediately after leaving the village. About 3km down the road turn right towards the kibbutz entrance but keep going instead of actually turning left into the kibbutz. The road quickly turns into a dirt track. The track turns left at some fish farm buildings; turn left where you see a small sign marked 'Tel Aviv' pointing back at you. It looks as if there is no through road but it will take you to a small parking lot close to the beach (get there early - it fills up quick!). From there head to the beach and work your way south to the rocks and good fishing. You can also camp on the beach making it more convenient for dusk/dawn fishing. Talking about conveniences, there are none so be prepared to rough it a bit.

I've created a map on GoogleMaps so you can see how to get there.

Tight lines!

Freshwater Fishing Spot In Israel: Jordan Park (Park HaYarden)

Known locally as Park HaYarden, the Jordan Park offers a small quiet stretch of river for fishing. There are an abundance of small fish, some St. Peter's fish, carp and catfish. It's a great place for a family camping weekend with lots of things to do and trails to hike along. There is also 'Abu Kayak' where you can rent inflatable rafts and kayaks - a great way to explore the river for those hot fishing spots! You can also use it as a base for fishing trips to the Kinneret and the Jordan River, both of which are just a few kilometers away.

Getting There

If you are coming from the Tiberius direction then head north along Route 90 and then right onto Route 87. Continue past Capernaum (Kfar Nachum) for about 6km, passing over Arik Bridge as you go, and turn left onto Route 888 at the Beit Tsaida junction. You will see the entrance to the park on your left after about 1km. If you are coming from the eastern (Golan Heights) side of the Kinneret then head north along Route 92 and then bear left onto Route 87. Continue for about 1km and turn right onto Route 888 at the Beit Tsaida junction. You will see the entrance to the park on your left after about 1km.

Tight lines!

To read more about fishing in Israel on The Fly Fishing Rabbi, Click Here

Fly Fishing for Tarpon, Permit and Bonefish

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Eric Eisenkramer) — Wed, 04 Aug 2010 13:14:00 +0000

I am very pleased to be able to share this article by my friend Dr. Michael Attas, a practicing cardiologist, ordained Episcopal priest and avid fly fisher:

While I cherish my time on my home waters of the Rockies, I also long for the chance to explore new places with my fly rod and to move into new territories-both physically and spiritually. On a trip to Belize, we searched for the big three for salt water fly fishermen—tarpon, permit and bonefish. Each requires a certain type of equipment, a certain mindset, and a certain set of expectations. Each fish is a glimpse, in its’ own way, into the mystery of creation and its’ ecologic diversity.

The tarpon has the appearance of some prehistoric silver monster from the depths, with majestic mouths and colors. When you hook a tarpon, the run and inevitable leap towards the heavens is guaranteed to stir the heart of even the most experienced fisherman. It is almost a given that the first time a tarpon is caught it is rarely landed, for the experience and physical skills required are just so different for a fly fisherman who lives on trout waters. As a cardiologist, I realize that reeling in a tarpon is like a salt water version of a treadmill stress test—if your heart can stand the runs and jumps it is probably in pretty good shape!!

Tarpon

The leap to the sky of the tarpon demands that the fishermen “bow to the king”— in order to keep the fish hooked we must lower our rod tip with our body and let the line have some slack before it re-enters the water and makes another daunting run. To me, this expression has some wonderfully religious overtones. We must always stand in reverence and humility before the creator of the universe. We cannot demand too much, pull too hard, keep the line to the divine too taught or we run the risk of missing some feedback to the presence of God in our lives.

Our relationship to God is often on based on trust that the link will remain even when we don’t sense its’ presence. It is not about meeting God on our terms, but on His. When we trust that process, we become like the fishermen who finds—much to his surprise—that the king Tarpon is still tugging mightily on his line despite his trusting movement of supplication. When we let go of our need to control God, it is often when God can move into our lives in new and powerful ways. Control is not something that works in our religious lives or our experience with a majestic fish like a tarpon.

For many experienced salt-water anglers, the permit is the Holy Grail of fly fishing. I have known very good fly fishers who have fished for decades to permit and never had even one take their fly. It is utterly maddening—one makes a perfect cast to a clearly feeding fish and the fly is met with total indifference of a mighty flash of escape. I had a very experienced guide tell me that he had cast to hundreds of permit, and then for no clear or discernable reason one time a permit simply decides to take a look at the crab pattern he threw. In our modern times, we like instant gratification and clear user manuals. If that is your mindset when approaching a permit, you almost certainly will be disappointed.

Permit

Bonefish are perhaps the most fun fish for most fly fishermen. A five pound bonefish will take a long screaming run, making that delightful sound a good reel makes as it does what it was designed to do. Watching school of beautiful tailing bonefish feeding is like glimpsing a tiny fleet of sailboats—their tails point to the heavens as they grub around the bottom for food. Or a school may move through the skinny waters, causing the classic “nervous water” look.

We cautiously lay a line out with grace and ease; the strike is not heavy often but a brief tug as we strip the line back. But then the magic happens—before you can almost respond with your mind a bonefish has made run of 150 yards and is close to the backing of your line. Luckily, you come to your senses and begin to play him and draw him in. Perhaps one more run and he is spent, and a gentle release into the wilds reminds of why we love this sport.

Bonefish

Each fly fishing trip to a far off destination represents a new beginning for me, for I have to leave my comfort zone. I must become familiar with new flies, new gear, new insects. A month or two before trips I often get out the 10-12 weight rod and hone up my heavy rod casting. I begin to work on the double haul, something we simply don’t have to do in the Rockies. I try to get my muscle memory back in shape, so that I don’t waste a part of a trip having to relearn things that I don’t have to practice often enough.

It seems to me that sometimes my spiritual life often needs a similar sort of jump-start with freshness. A willingness to try new things has led me to sudden spurts of a feeling of connection to God as well as to new waters. They seem to go hand in hand. But it can only happen when I say Yes.

To read a previous post on The Fly Fishing Rabbi by Reverend Mike, Click Here. He also writes a column for the Waco Texas Tribune on health, ethics and religion.

Is God A Person?

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Eric Eisenkramer) — Tue, 13 Jul 2010 12:12:00 +0000

In the book of Genesis we read that human beings are created in the divine image. Does this famous verse then imply that God is a person with a human-like form? Does God have a body?

The traditional God of Judaism or what I call “The God of Hebrew school,” is a king who has a gray white beard and sits up on a throne up in heaven. This is Avinu Malkeinu, “Our Father, Our King” who watches over us on the High Holidays to see if we will repent of our sins.

The Bible seems to suggest that God has a body. We know that God can talk. God used words to create the world. God spoke to people in the Bible including Abraham and Moses. If God has a voice, it stands to reason that God would have a mouth, as God’s voice has to come from somewhere. When we finish reading from the Torah scroll on Friday nights, we lift it high in the air and sing: Vezot HaTorah, “This is the Torah that Moses wrote down and placed before the Israelites, from the mouth of God.”

If God has a mouth, it also stands to reason that God has a face. At the end of each Friday night Shabbat service, I bless the congregation. I ask all to rise and I raise my hands in the air. Looking over the whole sanctuary, I recite the words of the Priestly Blessing, which comes from the Bible: May God bless you and Keep you. May God’s light shine upon you and be gracious to you. May God lift up God’s face towards you and Grant you Peace. The Priestly Blessing says that God has a face, panim in Hebrew, or punum in Yiddish. Even though some prayer books like to translate panim as “God’s Countenance” the clear and obvious meaning of the Hebrew is that God has a face.

For some people, the idea that God has a face is comforting. A congregant once told me that for him, it is easier to have a relationship with God if God has a body. The more human-like that God is, the closer we can feel to God.

Yet, for many people, the God on the throne with the long white beard is difficult to accept. Modechai Kaplan, a 20th Century Jewish philosopher, was a true innovator. His daughter Judith, became the first Bat Mitzvah in Jewish history in 1922. Kaplan founded the first JCC, Jewish community Center and he created a fourth movement of American Judaism, Reconstructionist Judaism.

Kaplan’s innovative nature also drove him to offer new ideas about God. He believed that God is not a person, a king on a throne. Rather, for Kaplan, God is a force, power, spirit or energy. Think Star Wars: May the Force Be With You. For Kaplan, God is a force for good, an energy that brings goodness into the world.

Kaplan believed that prayer is not about God; it is about us. When we pray, we take a moment to escape the difficulties of the world and reflect on our lives. Prayer then is not so much about asking God to grant our requests, for how can you ask a force or energy for something? Rather prayer is about finding spiritual strength and shalom peace.

When I teach adult education classes about God, I discuss both the traditional God of Judaism, the king on the throne, and Mordechai Kaplan’s ideas about God as a force for good in the universe. Sometimes I ask people to vote on which view of God they find more compelling. Usually it is split, with some preferring the traditional male king and others liking the idea of God as a force or power. Personally, I find myself more drawn to Kaplan’s idea of God as a force for good as it makes more sense to me in the modern and scientific world in which we live.

The primary message I try to convey when teaching about God is that there is a diversity of beliefs about the Divine in Judaism and that we all do not have to believe the same thing. Ultimately, we benefit from exploring many Jewish views of God and seeking beliefs that help to sustain us spiritually in our own lives.

Is God Male or Female?

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Eric Eisenkramer) — Mon, 05 Jul 2010 13:53:00 +0000

The traditional God of Judaism or what I call “The God of Hebrew school,” is male. In religious school we all learned that God has a gray white beard and sits on a throne up in heaven. This is Avinu Malkeinu, “Our Father, Our King” who watches over us on the High Holidays to see if we will repent of our sins.

We know that God is male because the Torah tells us so. The very first verse of Genesis reads: “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.” Hebrew is a gendered language, like Spanish and French, which means that verbs in Hebrew have separate male and female forms. In the first verse of Genesis, the form of the word “created,” bara, indicates that God is a male.

Even though God is male, God creates both man and woman. Modern scholars have determined that the Torah contains two stories of the creation of human beings. The one most of us are familiar with appears in Genesis chapter 2, in which God forms Adam out of the clay of the earth puts him to sleep, takes a rib from his side, and forms Eve from it. In this version, God creates both man and woman, but the woman is seen as inferior to the man as she came from him.

Genesis chapter 1 also contains a story about the creation of human beings that is more egalitarian. The Torah says: “And God created man in His image, in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them.” (Genesis 1:27) It seems that God created both male and female at the same time, indicating the equality of both genders. The rabbis even wrote a midrash, a legendary interpretation of the Torah, which states that God first created a hermaphrodite, a being that was both male and female, and only later split it into the two genders we have today.

The issue of God’s gender appears most clearly in the siddur, the Jewish prayer book. The standard Jewish prayer begins with the words Barukh Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melekh HaOlam, Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe. All of the verbs here all male, and God is referred to as King.

With the emergence of feminism in the 70s, Reform Jews began to question why God is always male in our prayers. Many suggestions were offered as to how to deal with God’s male gender. Some people said that we should translate the Hebrew words differently in English to remove gender all together.

In the 1970s, a new Reform Jewish prayer book was published that translates Barukh Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melekh HaOlam as “Praised be the Lord our God, Ruler of the universe.” Another way I have seen this done was in a prayer book written by Rabbi Larry Kushner’s Congregation in Boston. They translate Barukh Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melekh HaOlam as “Holy One of Blessing, Your Presence Fills Creation.”

In confirmation classes that I have taught over the years, I noticed that my students often referred to God as male even though many of my students are women! One year I pointed this out to them and said that if they believed that God is man, then they should continue to call God “He.” But if they do not, they should try something else.

I personally believe that God understands both men and women but is beyond gender. I view God not so much as a king on a throne, but rather a force or power or essence in the universe.

Ultimately, words are powerful, and the words we use for God are even more so. As Reform Jews we decide our own beliefs about God, whether we see God as a male, a female or non-gendered. And once we make this informed choice about what we believe, I suggest that we choose our words for God deliberately.

The Beginning of Fly Fishing Season

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Eric Eisenkramer) — Mon, 07 Jun 2010 15:58:00 +0000

Although we are already into June, it still feels to me that the fly fishing season has just begun. It was not too long ago that I took my gear out of the basement for the first time in months and smelled the scent of the river rising from my vest and waders. It is a distinctive smell, a scent of water and plants and nature, one that never fully leaves your gear during the off-season.

It is said that smell is one of the five senses that is very connected to memory. We remember a place in our mind’s eye, or recall a song from the distant past. Yet it is a smell from our past that can instantly bring us back to that distant place. It may well be that moment of smelling the river on your fly fishing gear begins the fly fishing season in earnest.

There is much to do to prepare for the first trip out to the stream. Fly rods, reels and fly lines are taken out and examined. Waders are checked for leaks and repaired. Tippets and leaders are counted. Flies are surveyed. A list is made of necessities to be purchased for the upcoming year. Accounting for all of your fishing gear after a long winter is a time honored tradition of fly fishing.

Judaism also teaches that we are to perform a yearly accounting, not of fly fishing gear, but rather of our souls. Just as fly fishers inspect their gear at the beginning of the season, Jews perform a soul-searching at the beginning of the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashanah. In Hebrew, this process of soul-searching is called chesbon nefesh, which literally means an accounting of the soul.

We are to reflect on our deeds in the year that is ending, both good and bad. We are to examine all aspects of our lives, professional and personal. Focusing on our shortfalls, we are to search for areas of improvement in the year to come. Surveying fly fishing gear helps us prepare for the fishing season and ensure that we have everything we need for a trip to the stream. Chesbon Nefesh, Jewish soul-searching, helps Jews to prepare for the year to come and to begin the process of repentance and repair.

Another time honored tradition at the beginning of the fly fishing season is the first trip to the fly shop. I love all fly fishing stores, the big chains and the small independent stores. There is something special about visiting the local shop that somehow stays in business year after year, with every square inch of shelf-space covered in leaders and tippet spools and the drawers filled with an endless array of dry flies, nymphs and streamers. At the independent fly fishing store you sit and talk to the owner, ask about business (usually hearing in response “we’re getting by,”) and gather info on the local streams.

Let’s admit the truth: the fly fishing store is like a toy store for adults. As children, we all remember trips to the local toy store and the shelves filled with baseball cards, action figures and brightly colored games and puzzles. Standing before an open drawer filled with countless flies, we recapture some of that same joy and excitement. We examine each fly, thinking that perhaps this red/gray Adams will bring that large brown trout to the surface, or a brown copper John nymph will prove irresistible in the fast currents.

Fly fishing is fun, an activity we do when we are not at work or taking care of other responsibilities in our lives. Stocking up on flies, surveying your gear and catching the scent of the river, these are all traditions of the Spring and the beginning of another glorious year of wading into the stream and casting a fly.

The "I'd Rather Be..." Bumper Sticker

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Eric Eisenkramer) — Mon, 17 May 2010 14:01:00 +0000

A few weeks ago I was driving on the highway and the car in front of me had a red bumper sticker that caught my eye. It said: “I’d rather be at a Neil Diamond Concert.” I thought it was a pretty funny thing to put on your car.

We’ve all seen those “I’d rather be” bumper stickers. If I were going to put one on my Honda, it would probably say: “I’d rather be fly fishing.” This feeling of “I’d rather be” is common. Whether at work, or fighting traffic, we all daydream of being somewhere else, like the beach or the trout stream. However, Judaism teaches the value of being present, focusing on where we are right now.

In Hebrew, the word for being present is heenaynee, which means, “Here I am.” When God first spoke to Abraham and Moses, they replied: “heenaynee,” Here I am. They were ready to listen to God and had nothing else on their minds.

Being present in the moment is what allowed Moses to find God in the first place. Moses was shepherding his flock on the mountain when he saw a bush burning without being consumed. How can you tell if a bush burns without being destroyed? Only if you spend enough time looking at it. So Moses was living in the present.

Time spent in an airplane is also an opportunity to be present. It is easy to think of the hours we spend in a plane as dead time, wasted time. After all, we are just trying to get somewhere else. However, when I try to be present on the plane often something nice happens. I hear a young girl telling her mother how excited she is for the upcoming trip. At night I see a moonless sky, and the dark ocean in all directions, and I feel the peace of the sleeping earth. Being present allows us to appreciate the small miracles of life.

Living in the present allows us to connect to those we care about. In our multi-tasking, cell-phone, internet world, sometimes it is hard to be with our family and friends even if they are sitting right next to us! I have friends who go out to dinner, but spend half the time on their cell phones, sending e-mail or checking the score of the game. We all know the cell phone called a Blackberry. Some people call it a “crack-berry,” because it can become addictive, and can pull us away from the present and into our own little worlds.

When the Israelites were leaving Egypt, there were two Jews who always looked down at their shoes as they walked. At first the ground was sandy and dry and they complained about the dust in their shoes. Then the ground became muddy and it was hard to walk and they complained about that. After a little while, the ground became dry and sandy again.

Since they were looking at their shoes, these two Israelites missed the splitting of the Red Sea! The ground was muddy because they were walking at the bottom of the ocean, with walls of water on both sides. Surely, miracles do not happen everyday. But if we spend all of our time complaining and looking down at our shoes, we may miss something amazing.

One last story about being present comes from the movie Groundhog Day. In the film, Bill Murray is forced to relive the same day, over and over again, at least a dozen times. Murray lives in a prison of present-ness. At first, he enjoys not having any tomorrow, eating whatever he wants and getting into trouble. Then he becomes desperate. Finally, Bill Murray learns the lesson of being present. He uses the day to help others. He connects with a woman and falls in love. Having learned the lesson of living in the present, then Murray wakes up and begins his life anew.

We do not have to be stuck in the same day in order to learn the lesson of being present. We need only to stop spending so much time being somewhere else. Then we may discover the small miracles all around us, and find ways to connect to those we love. Maybe I will get one of those bumper stickers. Mine will not say: “I’d rather be on the beach.” Instead, it would read: “I’d rather be right where I am.”

A Trout Stream in The Garden of Eden

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Eric Eisenkramer) — Mon, 26 Apr 2010 16:13:00 +0000

In the Bible, a river flowed through the Garden of Eden, watering the plants and trees and making the Garden into a lush paradise. I would like to believe that this river was also filled with trout, rainbows, browns, brooks and cutthroats, feasting on bountiful insects all around. Each time I go fly fishing, I too am in search of that river in the Garden of Eden, a perfect place of natural beauty and peace.

The river in the Garden of Eden was probably not next to a road. The Norwalk River in Connecticut runs along Route 7, the Ethan Allen Highway, beginning near where I live in Ridgefield and flowing down past the city of Norwalk and into Long Island Sound. There are a few good fishing holes on the stream especially near the town of Wilton and I enjoy fishing there sometimes. Yet on the Norwalk, you are never very far from the noise of the cars, a parking lot or a row of stores. The river in the Garden of Eden would be far from civilization.

One of my favorite rivers for many years was the Connetquot on Long Island, a beautiful cold-water stream located in a State Park. Sadly, the river was not too long ago cleared of trout due to IPN, a trout parasite, and I believe still unable to be fished.

Surrounded by suburbs and strip-malls on all sides, Connetquot State Park is a garden oasis of calm and tranquility. It was also a very popular place to cast a fly due to heavy stocking from the hatchery located within the park. After registering at the entrance and choosing a beat, a close to mile hike, past the old gristmill, a calm lake and through the woods, was necessary to reach the stream. The only sign of mankind was the occasional plane that flew overhead, which I accepted with disdain.

Sunset on the Connetquot River

The only thing separating the Connetquot River from the stream that flowed through the Garden of Eden was its popularity, the stream always being pretty crowded. Adam and Eve were alone in the Garden of Eden; time spent alone on a trout stream can be a spiritual experience for us as well. With only nature and our thoughts to keep us company, we can connect to ourselves and reflect on our lives. It is no accident that many Biblical figures found God while alone in places of natural beauty. Moses was alone on Mt. Sinai when God spoke to him through a burning bush. Alone on the stream, we too may feel a presence larger than ourselves.

The closest that I probably ever came to fishing the river in the Garden of Eden was in Argentina. While it was not one of the legendary rivers of Patagonia, I spent an amazing day on the San Jose River near Cordoba. I met my guide before dawn. We drove for an hour, through the most perfect, picturesque hills and valleys. With few trees, we saw beautiful views in all directions. There was no one around for miles. The sun was coming up above the peaks of the hills. This was the most beautiful place that I had ever fished.

The San Jose River in Argentina

The guide and I arrived at the river at seven. There was a good hatch of flies, and I cast my Griffin’s Gnat onto the stream. Within half an hour, I caught four small rainbows, all of which were returned to the river. As the sun came up, and the hatch ended, we began to hike down stream. With a brown grasshopper at the end of my line, I was even able to tempt a monster fish that moved towards the surface, but then retreated back to the deep water. After a few hours in Paradise, we headed back to the car.

We need not travel to Argentina or halfway across the world to find the river that flows through the Garden of Eden. Any stream can feel like Paradise, if the time spent in the river helps us to leave behind the stress of everyday and connect to a higher part of ourselves.

Measuring Success in Fly Fishing

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Eric Eisenkramer) — Tue, 06 Apr 2010 13:44:00 +0000

What makes a fly fishing trip a success? For some, catching fish is the only measure of a good fly fishing trip. Maybe that is why fly fishing stores sell scales and rulers to calculate the length and weight of the trout we land.

If the number of trout you catch is the only measure of your success, then what happens if you get skunked, not hooking a single fish? When I first taught myself to fly fish in the trout parks of Missouri, I would go hours, and days without catching a trout. It was frustrating. Yet even on the hardest day, when there were no fish to be seen, I still relished the time spent in the stream.

Fly fishing is not only about catching fish. Time spent on the stream can help us feel connected to nature, reflect on our lives and escape from the relentless pace of the modern world. At its highest moments, fly fishing can brings us closer to the Divine, as we sense the awe and beauty of our world and wonder how such an amazing place came to be. As a person I met recently on the stream told me: “Fly fishing is deep.”

Defining success in fly fishing by the number of fish you catch is kind of like defining success in life by how much money you have or by the size of your home. There is nothing wrong with material success. It is good to work hard and enjoy the fruits of your labor. But if our lives are only the sum total of our bank accounts, we have not accomplished all that we can in this world.

Judaism teaches that the measure of a successful life includes the ways we repair our broken world, the love we share with family and friends, and our striving to become better people. Even in the realm of the material, success does not only come from what we acquire, but also what we give away to others. Giving tzedakah, charity, is an obligation for every Jew, no matter how rich or poor. The most destitute must give something, even a penny, because the act of charity makes one a better person.

It seems to me that life is not about the size of the fish we catch or the sum of our material possessions. Success comes from all that we have seen and done that is beautiful and elevating and makes this world just a little bit better. When I am waist-deep in cold water, casting my line, I certainly want to catch fish. But I also try to remember to take a moment to breathe, to look around, and to appreciate those precious moments of connection and solitude on the stream.

The Wicked Child of Passover and A Rebellious Teen

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Eric Eisenkramer) — Sat, 27 Mar 2010 13:21:00 +0000

The Jewish Holiday of Passover begins on Monday night, March 29th. I hope that everyone has a Happy Passover!

The primary reason for the seder, the ritual meal of Passover, is to tell the story of the Exodus from Egypt to children. The four children section of the haggadah, the book used at the seder meal, is meant to help parents understand how to teach this story to their children.

As good teachers know, children learn in many ways and have different natural abilities and skills. The four children section reminds us that at least four different types of children would be sitting around the Passover table. As a soon to be new parent of twins this summer, I too want to learn what the rabbis taught about pedagogy and how to engage children in the story.

The wise child wants to know more about the laws and rules of Passover, and parents are to explain these to him or her in great detail. The wicked child comes next, and I’m going to skip him for a moment. The simple child asks: “What is this all about?” and we are to answer simply that God saved us from Egypt. And for the child who does not know how to ask, we are to be proactive, telling him or her about the Exodus.

The wicked child is perhaps the most interesting of the four children. He or she asks: “What does this service mean to you?” It is the inflection of the question that is important. The wicked child asks this question with an aggressive tone, demonstrating that he excludes himself from Judaism. “What does this service mean to you and not to me?” The response, according to the rabbis, is to answer harshly, and to say that this child would have been left behind when God saved the people from Egypt.

According to the rabbis, what made this child wicked was that he or she did not want to be included in the Jewish people. It is one thing to disagree with Jewish teachings. Part of being a Jew is to question, to explore and to not accept things on face value. But if you put yourself outside of the Jewish fold, refusing to question or be engaged Judaism in any way, you sever your connection to our faith and our people.

In my previous congregation, one Bar Mitzvah boy spent a great deal of effort rebelling against Judaism. It was very difficult to work with him to prepare his Bar Mitzvah speech. This young man simply did not want to be in Hebrew School, much less sitting with the rabbi, and he was not afraid to tell me so. Working on that speech with him was like pulling teeth, because he absolutely refused to be of any help whatsoever.

Finally, one day he said to me: “Rabbi I hate it here at the Temple. I’m only here because my mom makes me come.” I paused for a moment and I replied: “OK. So what do we do now?” I think this disarmed him a bit, as he expected me to reply harshly to him, in the same way the rabbis said we should respond to the wicked child. He thought it over for a minute and said: “It’s not that I hate being Jewish, because I am proud to be Jew. I just hate coming to the Temple.” Then I asked him what he liked about being Jewish, we began talking, and his speech developed from there.

I came to realize that the rebellion of that Bar Mitzvah student was not against Judaism, nor did he wish to exclude himself from our religion. He was simply a teenager who did not like coming to Hebrew School. I also learned that by responding calmly to this young man, and not matching his rebellion with my own frustration, I was able to get through to him.

The rabbis were right to teach us that children who exclude themselves from the Jewish people are the hardest to reach. But they were wrong to be so quick to label those children as wicked. Sometimes it just takes a well-placed question to show a teen or even an adult that he can still be Jewish even if he disagrees or dislikes certain parts of our religion.

Human beings are much more complex than a one word label can possibly describe. Rather than call our children, or ourselves, wise, wicked or simple, we benefit from realizing that we are all of the above. One of my favorite haggadahs offers a wonderful commentary that can help us see beyond simple labels. When sitting around the seder table, each participant can finish the following sentences: “I am like the wise child when…” “I am like the wicked child when…” “I am like the simple child when…” “I am like the child who does not know how to ask when…”

The Fly Fishing Reverend

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Eric Eisenkramer) — Mon, 01 Mar 2010 18:05:00 +0000

This article on The Fly Fishing Rabbi is by Dr. Michael Attas, a practicing cardiologist, professor and an ordained Episcopal priest. He has avidly pursued fish with the magic of flies all over the world for 40 years. Dr. Attas also writes a column for the Waco Texas Tribune on health, ethics and religion.

Several years ago I was sitting in the Houston Intercontinental Airport when my cell phone rang. It was the wife of Will Spong, who was perhaps my closest mentor in my dual life as a physician and priest. Will was my seminary professor, pastoral counselor, and one of my closest friends. He was found dead in bed that morning, and my world began to spin out of control.

Will was the brother of the Rev. John Shelby Spong who authored “Rescuing the Bible from Fundamentalists,” and was the person most responsible for my decision to pursue ordained ministry while continuing a life as a practicing physician and professor. We had just shared a long lunch a few weeks before, and little did I know then that would be the last time I would see him.

When Nancy called to inform me of Will’s passing, I was on the way to Argentina to pursue the legendary sea run brown trout of Tierra del Fuego. I wanted desperately to cancel the trip to be with friends and family of Will to celebrate his life and ministry. Yet Nancy told me unequivocally to go fishing-that is what Will would have wanted for me. So I went fly fishing—to the land of eternal fire where large fish morphed into something glorious to rule the rivers and oceans.

Two days later, I was in the middle of the Rio Grande River when the reality of Will’s death hit me. I began to heave with sobs of loss, of injustice, of Wills pure and simple absence. I went to the bank to collect myself, fearing that if I stayed in the water I might lose my balance and go for a cold swim! Within a few minutes I began to feel a peace, a calm…what I would describe as a peace that passes all understanding.

I looked across the river, and my eyes beheld the most glorious rainbow in the sky that I’ve ever seen. Now this was more than a bit unusual, for it was not an arched rainbow reaching from cloud to cloud, but a vertical rainbow reaching from heaven to earth, like a multi-colored thread reaching from the divine into the heart of the human condition.

The Rainbow on the Rio Grande River

And I heard with the clarity beyond words Will’s voice inside my head saying “Mike…it is fine. All will be well. Relax and don’t worry”. The words of the 14th century Christian mystic Julian of Norwich echoed in my mind when she looked into a simple chestnut and saw all of God’s creation and wrote “all will be well, all will be well.” It was nothing less than the simple assurance of the presence of creating God who undergirds his story with an outpouring of love into the human condition.

In Mark 15:38 the author writes that when Jesus died “the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom”. In ancient cosmology, the heavens and earth were seen as separate realms, and the temple curtain was a symbolic way to keep something purely holy from the rather profane and earthy world. Mark’s words are a way of saying that the divisions between God and humankind will never be quite the same. The barriers are rent asunder. God has chosen to enter into the rather messy, painful, real world where humans live, love, work, are wounded—and yet who keep surviving and loving despite unbearable loss and suffering.

The Celtic Christians of the first few centuries felt that the world is graced with “thin places” where the divine and human can more closely come into some sort of connection with each other. These are “liminal” places, and they exist in all sorts of strange and wonderful and glorious spots. Sometimes they are in churches or temples or synagogues. Sometimes they are in the fields we plow. Sometimes they are in our kitchen or our hearth where we are welcomed home. More often they are in the world where we all live daily.

These are places where we experience the reality of God more purely, more certainly, more radically, more authentically than in other places. And for me rivers are often those very thin places. Like the river in Argentina, they are often places where my mind and body can get out of the way and God can flow in. Unobstructed with the clutter of my life, I find myself listening more intently to the voice that is calling me home, to the very ground of my being.

The Author, right, with a sea run brown trout in Argentina

A thin place, yes-- where rivers and fish remind me of love and loss and hope and glory and the possibility of redemption. They bear stories of friendships beyond words. They carry our memories, our hopes, our fears, and our dreams. The thin places of rivers and fish are where we often find our truest self, the one hidden to all but the Holy One.

Winter Fly Fishing

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Eric Eisenkramer) — Mon, 22 Feb 2010 16:26:00 +0000

The last time I went fly fishing was in late October of last year. Three and a half months of winter, snow, ice and misery had made me almost forget that fly fishing existed, that it was even possible to spend time in a stream with the trout. This past week, when the temperature in Connecticut reached into the high thirties with abundant winter sunshine, it felt downright tropical. So I decided to head out to the river.

With four layers of pants and an equal number of shirts and sweatshirts, I headed for the local TMA, trout management area, where catch and release fly fishing is permitted year round. This section of the river begins at a classic New England covered bridge, and flows down amongst rocks and boulders. With snow on both banks of the river, I quickly discovered that wading in the winter ice and snow is much more difficult and dangerous. The snow covered the riverbanks and it was impossible to tell exactly where the water began. I walked one careful step at a time on the snow. Most of the time the ice held my weight. Occasionally, I broke through, falling into about six inches of water.

The quite and solitude of the winter river nourished my soul. I gazed at the pure white snow covering the banks. I heard that familiar sound of the river that I had missed for months. And when I began to cast, I felt once again the smooth motion in arms as the tiny fly slid gracefully through the air and landed gently on the water. When we return to the river after months away, we remember again, as if for the first time, how fly fishing can nourish every part of us; our eyes feast on the beauty of the river, our nose and lungs take in the pure air, our ears hear the sounds of rushing water, and our hands gracefully send the fly onto the stream.

Psalm 150 says: “Let every soul praise God, Haleluyah!” However, we could also translate this Hebrew verse as: “Let all of the soul praise God.” When fly fishing, we engage our mind, body and soul in an act that is meant to catch trout, but can also connect us to the Divine.

The TMA that I fished had many deep pools that I hoped were filled with trout. With no surface activity, I fished nymphs and underwater flies. Yet three hours of careful wading and casting yielded not a single bite. After fishing the pools for about a mile downstream, I saw that the river was frozen, and I knew that my day of winter fly fishing had ended.

I suspect that this stream did have trout that survived year-round, but I simply could not find them. Later back at home, I came upon an article by Tom Rosenbauer of Orvis entitled “How to Catch Trout in Winter.” (Might have been a good idea to research first before heading to the stream, but I was too excited to get out on the water!) Tom wrote that trout generally will not feed below 40 degrees and the day that I went it was in the mid to high 30s. He also recommended fishing nymphs and streams, and even using a sinking line to ensure the fly travels deep enough into the pools where the trout live during the winter.

Not too far from my home is a large reservoir. Every time I drive by on a winter morning when the surface of the reservoir is frozen, I see people standing on the middle of the lake ice fishing. I always shake my head and think to myself, “They are nuts. I’ll never do that.” But then there I was, on a February afternoon, wading through snow to cast my fly rod. A day of winter fly fishing reminded me of how much I missed casting a fly and it was very satisfying. But I think I’ll probably wait another month or two until the snow has disappeared, the mercury is higher and the trout are rising, before returning to the stream in earnest.

The iPad and Disconnecting from Technology

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Eric Eisenkramer) — Mon, 01 Feb 2010 13:48:00 +0000

This week, Apple introduced the iPad, a new tablet computer. The Wall Street Journal said: “Last time there was this much excitement about a tablet, it had some commandments written on it.” The iPad looks like an iPod on steroids, with a large screen about the size of a piece of paper.

With an iPad, you will be able to do email, watch movies, surf the web, listen to music, look at pictures and read books. And I want one. In fact, every time a new piece of amazing technology is released, I want to head straight to the store and pick up the new LED HD TV, or iPhone or now the iPad. It is only the reality of budgetary constraints that keep me from filling our house with new gadgets.

While I am a big supporter of technology, it is also important for us to be able to disconnect, to unplug from our modern world sometimes. If we spend all of our time in a realm of email, cell phone calls and websites, we may miss opportunities in the real world, the world right in front of us.

One of the problems with modern life is the ability to be able to work twenty-four hours a day. With a Blackberry, we are always able to check email, take phone calls and deal with work issues. While this certainly increases our productivity, it also makes it harder for us to take a break from the stresses of our jobs. When I go on vacation, I do not check voice mail or email. I have discovered that simply taking a break from email is enough to make a vacation relaxing, even if I do not leave home.

We all benefit from finding ways to disconnect from work on a regular basis. Of course, this is what the Sabbath, a day of rest is all about. The essence of the Sabbath comes from the Bible where it says: on the seventh Day God rested and was refreshed. Taking time on Shabbat to pray, to walk, to enjoy a leisurely meal, these are the things that provide us with renewal and strength to face the week ahead.

Another reason to disconnect from technology is to allow us to reconnect to family and friends. Sharing a meal together is perhaps the most important opportunity for families to be together. Yet our amazing technology makes it possible for a family to be sitting around a table and yet not notice one another. I see it in restaurants where kids are texting or playing games and not speaking to their parents. Or at home, where a family watches television during dinner. We are all so busy, and we have so little time to spend with our loved ones. Yet it is easy to squander the moments that have the greatest potential for family bonding.

One final benefit of unplugging from technology is the opportunity to reconnect to yourself. It is in moments of quiet reflection and introspection that we think about our lives, plot new directions for ourselves, and contemplate repairing our mistakes. Each one of us has activities that allow us to escape the everyday. We go to the gym, we go for a long walk, we pray in this Sanctuary, or we spend time outdoors. I find these moments on the trout stream.

It is often easier to reflect on our lives when we are alone. It was no accident that Moses first met God while alone on the mountain, standing before a burning bush. Spiritual moments of introspection are easier to find if we allow ourselves to be disconnected for a while.

Technology is a good thing but like anything else, it must be used in moderation. Our task is not throw away the computer or destroy the tv, not that this would ever happen anyway. Rather, we just need to remember to disconnect from technology on a regular basis. I may still pick up the iPad when it comes out in a few months as I find it hard to resist. Yet, I’ll also try to remember to press that little black button in the upper corner that says “off.”

The Dubai Tower and What We Build In Life

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Eric Eisenkramer) — Wed, 20 Jan 2010 12:22:00 +0000

On January 4th, the Burj Dubai, arabic for the Tower of Dubai, was officially opened as the tallest building in the world. The Burj Dubai is 2717 feet tall, 160 stories. It is roughly as tall as the two World Trade Center towers placed one on top of the other. It is a beautiful building, designed by an architect from Chicago.

The Burj Dubai was built at the height of the global real-estate boom. It cost 1.5 billion dollars to build and due to the real estate crash, it is currently mostly empty. With a hotel, apartments and office space, the tower flooded Dubai with more residential and commercial space than the market can possibly bear. This beautiful tower will probably remain mostly empty for years to come.

The Burj Dubai can be a metaphor for pursuing goals in life that ultimately prove empty, like the current tower itself. In the recent terrific film “Up in the Air,” George Clooney works for a firm that a company hires in order to fire its employees. Clooney travels over 250 days a year, going from city to city, company to company, following a script to fire people and “ease their transition.”

As Clooney is alone and has a soul-destroying job, he finds an outlet in another goal, reaching 10 million American Airlines miles, a feat only accomplished by seven other people. When Clooney finally reaches that goal, he receives a special platinum card and a visit from the head pilot of American. Sitting together in first class, Clooney says to the pilot something like: “I’ve been thinking about this moment for years, what I would say to you. But now my mind is empty.”

In a sense, Clooney’s character built his own empty tower, 10 million American Airlines Miles tall, but like the tower in Dubai, it is empty. When we set our goals in life of building higher, acquiring, or hoarding, these material goals may not provide us with the satisfaction that we desire. Even if each of us won the lottery, and could stack up dollars bills in a tower that reached towards the sky, we all know that money does not buy happiness.

If we want to build something, we should not strive for a 160-story skyscraper. Each of us has plenty of work to do to build and strengthen our relationships with family members and friends. If we want to build something, let’s build our communities, seeking to strengthen our town and our connections to others.

The pursuit of material goods and taller buildings is perhaps only a form of self-aggrandizement and it can never provide us with ultimate satisfaction. It is when we shift the focus away from ourselves and to others, to strengthening the bonds of family, to building community and to helping those in need, then we have the potential to build something meaningful and lasting in our lives.

Spiritual Fly Casting and Wading

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Eric Eisenkramer) — Mon, 04 Jan 2010 17:34:00 +0000

Casting a fly rod and wading through a cold-water stream can be spiritual experiences. It is an art form to cast a fly correctly. Using an eight to nine foot rod, a fluorescent line and clear leader and tippet, the fly fisher casts the fly out on to the stream. One can learn the basics of casting in a few minutes, but it takes practice to drift a fly correctly and to lure a trout to the surface.

I was first inspired to take up fly fishing after seeing the beautiful casting in the film “A River Runs Through It.” Being a self-taught kind of person, I went to the local fly fishing store in St. Louis, bought a fly rod and reel, and started casting in my front yard (without a hook!). Over the years, I picked up tips here and there from other anglers. Even after bringing dozens of fish to the net and releasing them, my casting skills are intermediate at best. The perfection of the fly cast is a life long pursuit.

Patience is required to cast a fly. In the traditional shadow cast, the fly line travels back and forth, in front of and behind you, until you release it forward. The angler waits for the fly line to extend fully behind him and then flicks it forward gently onto the stream. The fly fisher then watches the fly patiently, waiting and hoping that a trout will rise. Grace happens in fly casting when the cast unrolls in a slow uniform motion on the water and the fly lands ever so gently on the stream.

After the fly drifts down with the current, the fly fisher casts once again. Fly fishing is not like watching a bobber on a lake. For hours, the angler engages in the graceful repetition of the fly cast, in what could be described as a form of meditation. In Eastern religions, a mantra is used to enter a higher spiritual state. Buddhists chant the syllable “Ohm.” In Jewish meditation, the spiritual seeker chants the Hebrew letters that make up the name of God, Yud-Hey-Vav-Hay.

Like mantra meditation, the casting of a fly rod allows the angler to let go of the everyday and access the spiritual side of him or herself. Often I am so busy casting, focusing on my line and how gracefully (or not!) the fly lands on the water that I fail to realize that three or four hours have passed. In the meditative state of fly casting, my being and senses are focused on the fly line, and I lose track of time and place.

Along with casting, wading in a cold-water stream can also be spiritual. The fly fisher wears boots and neoprene waders up to the chest, allowing him or her to walk into the river. Waders are necessary to bring the angler closer to the trout and to keep the fly fisher warm. Wading in a river is like snorkeling on a coral reef. During one snorkeling trip in the Red Sea in Israel, I took a moment to reflect on my surroundings. Looking up from the water, I saw the sky and the shore. Lowering my head and snorkel mask down in the sea, I entered a new world, filled with the whites and pinks of the reef and colorful fish swimming all around.

When wading in a stream, the fly fisher enters a new world as well, that of the river. Moving around becomes more of a challenge, as we feel the strength of the current and the slippery rocks below. We are visitors in a new realm where we do not quite belong, a fascinating place of water, rocks, plants and trout.

A wading staff, a three or four foot long metal pole, helps the angler to navigate the foreign world of the river and maintain one’s balance. A wading staff also gives the angler more freedom to explore the stream. When I became the rabbi of my congregation in Connecticut, I heard about the great fly fishing on the Housatonic River.

On my first trip to the Housey without a wading staff, I could walk only five or ten feet off the shore before the current became too strong and I feared losing my balance. A month later on a return trip, wading staff in hand, I crossed the river from shore to shore, up and down the river. That day on the Housey, I did not catch a single trout, but I reveled in the freedom of exploration.

Perhaps the most powerful wading staff in history was that of Moses. After the Israelite slaves fled Egypt, they stood at the shore of the Red Sea, trapped between the waters in front and Pharaoh’s approaching army behind. At God’s command, Moses lifted his wooden (wading) staff and the sea split in two, allowing the Israelites to cross through on dry land.

When on the opposite shore from where I started or in a deep pool, I sometimes wish that I could lift my staff and split the waters like Moses. Yet I remain content with my metal wading staff, and the freedom to go well beyond the shore, into the world of the river.

Keeping a Trout for Dinner?

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Eric Eisenkramer) — Sat, 19 Dec 2009 14:31:00 +0000

I have not taken a trout home for dinner in a few years. Out of the few dozen rainbow, brown and brook trout that I brought to the net, each fish was released back to the stream and swam back into the depths. I practice catch and release fishing for the health of the streams, knowing that if we were all to keep every fish caught, the rivers would soon be empty.

The simplest reason why I release the fish that I catch is that I do not enjoy killing a fish. Rainbow and brown trout are beautiful creatures, sleek, elegant and graceful. When holding a fish in hand, I feel the power of its body and I see the beautiful dark purple spots of a brownie or the long pink stripe of a rainbow. To kill such a beautiful and graceful creature feels somehow wrong.

Perhaps I have started to view a trout as more than just a fish, like a pet. Although other cultures eat dogs as part of their cuisine, we would never want any harm to come to our canine friends. I feel a similar attachment to the trout of the stream, as if all of the rainbow, brown and brook trout are like pets that I sometimes have the opportunity to look at and hold for a few brief moments.

Despite my appreciation for trout, I have been thinking that next spring when I find myself back on the water, I may take the occasional trout home for dinner to fulfill the basic human need for food. On a fishing trip a few years ago, I kept two good size rainbow trout. I broiled the fillets with olive oil and salt, and they tasted amazing.

To eat a trout for sustenance is part of being human. In the Bible, after the great flood, God told Noah that humans could eat animals, as long as they removed all of the blood from them. The blood was seen as the very life force of the creature, and to not eat the blood was a way of respecting the animal. God told Noah and all humanity that we are able to consume other animals as long as we respect them and acknowledge their Divine source.

While the Bible acknowledges the relationship between humans and animals as hunter and prey, many of us today have lost this fundamental aspect of being human. We purchase our beef and chicken at the grocery store, packaged in cellophane, sterilized and removed from all connection to the animal from which it came. Most of us urban dwellers never kill an animal ourselves in order to eat. Instead we leave that job to others in meat processing plants far away.

Killing a trout is not easy, and I do not enjoy it. I try to end the life of the fish in a humane manner. I do not use a creel, keeping the fish alive for hours, which I consider cruel. Instead, I dispatch the trout as quickly as possible and I place it in a cooler that I bring along with me for that purpose.

The fly fishing tool used to kill a trout is called a priest, with a wooden handle and a brass end used to strike the fish. We call it a priest because you are offering “last rights” to the trout. However when dispatching a fish, we can also think of ourselves as priests, rabbis or ministers. Just as we expect our religious leaders to conduct themselves to the highest ethical standards, we too must kill the fish in the most humane way possible.

Picture: a fly fishing priest.

Ending the life of a beautiful trout is difficult and I sometimes feel guilty doing it. But it can also teach us spiritual and ethical lessons. We realize what it actually means to kill another animal and so we strive to treat animals with respect. We also remember that a trout is one of God’s creatures, a true miracle of creation. While we are able eat this fish, we do so with a heightened sense of appreciation for the trout itself, and for the world in which it lives.

No Family is Perfect

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Eric Eisenkramer) — Tue, 15 Dec 2009 14:18:00 +0000

During this time of year, we wish to be near our families and share the warmth of holidays with them. We may also have mixed emotions and can encounter difficulties in being with our loved ones. No family is perfect, and often we deal with family issues during this holiday season. In Hebrew we call family mishpecha, or in Yiddish, mishpocha. Judaism offers a number of helpful ideas for dealing with mishpecha during the holidays.

Judaism teaches us that no family structure is perfect. We tend to idealize the nuclear family, believing that the perfect family gathering occurs when grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins gather together for a meal and celebration. While this vision of family life is beautiful, it is rare.

Today, many families are simply not structured in this traditional way. We have blended families from multiple marriages. Boyfriends and girlfriends of every age from teenagers to seniors join at the holiday table. In the Bible it says that we are to care for the widow, the orphan and the stranger. By this same principal, our task is to welcome everyone to our holiday tables with kindness.

The Bible is filled with many examples of unique family structures. Jacob had four wives, 12 sons and 1 daughter, making for a very complex family life. Naomi from the book of Ruth had a very difficult family life as well. She lost her husband and two sons. Her daughter in law Ruth stays with Naomi and Ruth even converts to Judaism, saying: “Wherever you go, I will go; And wherever you lodge, I will lodge; Your people shall be my people, and your God, my God.”

The measure of a family is not how closely it matches the traditional structure, but rather the warmth, love and support shared by its members. It is probably no accident then that Kind David descended from the loving family of Ruth and Naomi.

Just as no family structure is perfect, individual family members are not perfect either. It is easy judge our relatives by high standards. Yet Judaism teaches us that benefit in trying to accept our family members despite their flaws.

Beginning with Cain killing his brother Abel, one family member after another in the Torah argues, does not get along and occasionally disowns one another. In many cases, we can learn from the families in the Torah exactly what not to do to promote family unity. A hint: almost sacrificing your child, as Abraham did with Isaac, probably does not engender good family dynamics. All of these stories of difficult family dynamics from the Torah are perhaps meant to teach us that grandparents, parents and siblings are imperfect.

One way to help us accept the imperfections of family members is to look at the core of the relationship which is love. Remembering the love shared between siblings or parents and children can go a long way towards overcoming family issues.

We can all come up with a laundry list of ways that our family members caused us harm. Perhaps we will use the holidays as an excuse to bring up old grievances, or punish family members for past mistakes. Yet if we can try to remember that our family members do love us, we might find ourselves relating to them with kindness and compassion. There are families out there where there is a lack of love, and if we are fortunate to have love in our family, this is reason to be grateful.

In Jewish tradition, one of the guiding values for family life is shalom bayit, which means peace in the home. As the holiday season continues, we benefit from striving for shalom bayit and creating an atmosphere of peace, acceptance and tolerance in our homes.

Judaism does not counsel us to forgive and forget, or to pretend that difficulties in relationships do not exist. However, if we recall the love at the center of our family relationships and seek to let go of some of the difficulties of the past, we can make theses holidays into a warm and joyous time, even if they are a bit exhausting.

The Story of Hanukkah

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Eric Eisenkramer) — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 13:22:00 +0000

The Jewish holiday of Hanukkah begins this year on Friday, December 11^th and continues for eight days. The word Hanukkah means dedication, and the holiday celebrates the rededication of the ancient Temple in Jerusalem.

Around 200 BCE (before the common era), Jews were living as an autonomous people in Israel under Greek rule. Twenty-five years later, Antiochus Epiphanes looted the Temple in Jerusalem and massacred Jews. He ordered a statue of Zeus erected in the Temple and sacrificed pigs on the altar, a great affront to Judaism that forbids the consumption of pork. Antiochus effectively outlawed the practice of Judaism.

A Jewish revolt broke out, led by Judah Macabee, whose name means Judah the Hammer. The Macabees defeated the Greeks and restored Jewish sovereignty. Judah then ordered the Temple cleansed and rededicated.

The primary message of Hanukkah is religious freedom. When the Greeks outlawed the practice of Judaism and desecrated the Temple, the Macabees fought back. As Jews, our history of persecution instills in us a strong sense of the importance of protecting our religious freedoms and the liberties of others as well. As Jews in America, we are very fortunate to live in a country that protects the freedom to practice one’s faith.

When the Macabees rededicated the ancient Temple, they went to relight the menorah, the ritual candelabra. There was only enough olive oil to last for one day. However a miracle occurred and that small jar of oil kept the lights burning for eight days.

Many of the customs and rituals of Hanukkah recall the miracle of the oil. We light a menorah (also called a Hanukkiah) for eight nights, adding one candle each evening. Jewish tradition teaches that the Menorah is to be lit near a window so that people walking by may see it and recall the miracle. On Hanukkah, we also eat latkes, small potato pancakes fried in oil, to recall the miraculous small jar of oil. My favorite recipe for latkes is one part onion to one part potato.

Hanukkiah or Menorah from wikipedia.org

The miracle of the oil is also a powerful symbol of hope. Just as the light lasted much longer than expected, so too have the Jewish people lived on for millennia despite difficulties and persecution. One Hanukkah song begins: “Don’t let the light go out, it’s lasted for so many years.”

The light of the menorah is also a symbol of God’s presence and enduring relationship with the people Israel. Like the light of the menorah, God has been with the Jewish people for over three millennia, helping and guiding us through good times and bad. While Jews have a relationship with God, we also believe that God cares for all people.

On Hanukkah, children play a game called dreidel, spinning a small top and wagering on which side the top will fall with gelt, chocolate coins. The four Hebrew letters on the dreidel spell out the phrase: “A great miracle happened there,” referring to the jar of oil that burned for eight days.

Dreidel from wikipedia.org

One final custom of Hanukkah is the giving of gifts to children, right after the menorah is lit. As Hanukkah falls in mid to late December each year (depending on the Jewish calendar), the holiday has become in many ways about giving and receiving gifts. As a child, I remember the excitement I felt the day of our family Hanukkah parties each year and all of the presents from my parents, aunts and uncles.

However, Hanukkah is not a time only for gifts. It is a powerful and ancient Jewish celebration that reminds us of the importance of religious freedom, and gives us hope for the future of the Jewish people.

Happy Hanukkah!

Rabbi Eric Eisenkramer

Is Thanksgiving a Jewish Holiday?

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Eric Eisenkramer) — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 21:47:00 +0000

One day in late November a few years ago I ran into a congregant in the hallway of my Temple. She wished me a Happy Thanksgiving. Then she said: “Oh wait a minute. I didn’t mean to offend you. Do you celebrate Thanksgiving?” I said: “Of course! Jews celebrate Thanksgiving.” She laughed, a little embarrassed, and then I wished her a Happy Thanksgiving too.

A stream near our house in the fall

There are many ritual, historical and theological connections between Judaism and Thanksgiving. Most of the Pilgrims who celebrated the first Thanksgiving were Puritans, a branch of the Protestant faith. The Puritans strongly identified with the historical traditions and customs of the Israelites in the Bible.

In their quest for religious freedom, the Puritans viewed their journey to America as exactly analogous to the exodus of the Israelites from Egypt. England was Egypt, the king was Pharoah, the Atlantic Ocean their Red Sea and the Puritans were the Israelites, entering into a new covenant with God in a new Promised Land. In fact, most of the Puritans had Hebrew names and there was even a proposal to make Hebrew the language of the colonies!

Some scholars believe that the Pilgrims modeled Thanksgiving after the Jewish holiday of Sukkot, in that they are both harvest festivals that take place in the fall. The word “Sukkot” means booths. In the time of the ancient temple, the Israelites dwelt in booths during the fall harvest season, to have a place to live as they worked the land day and night. The booths also took on another theological meaning, reminding Jews of the small huts in which the ancient Israelites lived for forty years after escaping slavery and religious persecution in Egypt. Today, Jews celebrate Sukkot by dwelling in a Sukkah for 8 days.

While there are historical and ritual links between Thanksgiving and Judaism, perhaps the most important connection is the theme of religious freedom. The Puritans came to America so that they could worship without fear of persecution. Millions of Eastern-European Jews came to our country in the late 19th and early 20th century. These Jewish immigrants called America “The Golden Land.” They saw the United States as a place of opportunity, where anyone can succeed with hard work and determination. America is also a golden land for Jews because it allows us to practice our faith. On Thanksgiving, we are all Pilgrims, joining together to celebrate the bounty of the land and to give thanks for our religious freedom.

The Film 2012 and The End of The World

noreply@blogger.com (Rabbi Eric Eisenkramer) — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 16:08:00 +0000

This past weekend a new movie came out, 2012, in which human civilization will comes to an end on December 21st, the winter solstice, in the year 2012. The film is based on an interpretation of the ancient Mayan Long Calendar. The Mayan civilization, an advanced culture in what is now Mexico, was the only group in the Americas to develop writing before the arrival of Columbus.

The Mayan Long Calendar is divided into cycles of about 400 years. We are currently in cycle number 13, which is scheduled to end on December 21st, 2012. Scholars say that according to traditional Mayan beliefs, a new cycle will simply begin, no harm done. But the filmmakers have taken creative liberties, and perhaps because it is the 13th Mayan cycle, they created the idea that the world would come to an end on 12/21/12.

The filmmakers of 2012 are not the only ones who suggest that civilization may come crashing down on a certain date. When the new millennium began in the year 2000, there was talk of possible disruption and chaos. As it turned out, the biggest problem we faced was a computer error, the Y2K bug. And even that problem was fixed in time.

There have always been people, “prophets,” who predict a specific day when human civilization will come crashing down. Often predictions about the end are religious in nature. The general belief is that our corrupt human society will be destroyed and replaced by the perfect and just Kingdom of God.

Traditionally, Judaism offers its own series of beliefs about the end of civilization. Some Jews affirm that the messiah, from the line of King David, will come, ushering in a period of heaven on earth. The messiah will reestablish the Kingdom of Israel and rebuild the Temple in Jerusalem. All Jews will return to Israel to live in freedom and peace. Traditional Judaism also teaches that there will be a resurrection, so that ever Jew who has ever lived will be reborn and travel to the Holy Land.

Reform Judaism has generally rejected the idea of the messiah as a person and the belief in a future resurrection. Instead many Reform Jews speak about a messianic age. It is our task to participate in tikkun olam, repair of the world, and to fix all that is wrong with our planet and our society. We must create a heaven on earth, a messianic age for all people.

While traditional Judaism states that God will bring our human civilization to an end, today there are other theories about the end of time provided by modern science. Our universe began with the Big Bang, about 14 billion years ago. Some scientists believe the universe will keep expanding forever, as it has ever since the Big Bang. Others believe in a theory called The Big Crunch.

Eventually the universe will stop expanding and start contracting, until all matter is once again crammed into an infinitely small point. Sounds painful. The good news is that none of us will be around for that, which if it happens, will place billions of years from now.

While the Big Crunch may be in store for the distant future, I do not believe that we are headed for a 2012-like event, where our society will suddenly come crashing down due to natural disaster or Divine will. In the Biblical story of the Flood, God destroyed all living things except for Noah, his family and two of each animal. After the Flood, God placed a rainbow in the sky as a sign of God’s promise never again to eliminate all life on earth.

Yet we human beings are always on the verge of destroying ourselves. Last century, there was the immanent threat of global nuclear war. There were genocides, wars, and a Holocaust, killing hundreds of millions in total. Today, global warming, a human creation, causes sea levels to rise and could create another Noah-like flood. I do not think we need to worry about prophecies, ancient calendars, or a Big Crunch. But we do have a lot of work to do to save our planet and to improve our world, so that the human race can continue to live and to flourish.