This past Saturday night, a man named Moshe Silman lit himself on fire in Tel Aviv. The episode occurred at a protest about the high cost of living in Israel, an outgrowth of the “social justice” movement begun last year protesting high housing prices. YNet reports that a day later, a man threatened to light himself on fire in a cell phone store in Petah Tivka because of the large amount of debt he had incurred with the company over time.

According to the LA Times, this was not the first time an Israeli has burnt himself to prove a point. Yelena Bosinova lit herself on fire in 2005 in objection to the Disengagement from Gush Katif.

A quick Google search produced chilling results. Apparently, a Tibetan monk and an Indian politician both lit themselves on fire in the past week (both as forms of sociopolitical protests)!

I’m sorry, but I find all of this kind of hard to understand. As a friend said, “I can understand civil disobedience. I can even wrap my head around hunger strikes if need be. But this…I can’t imagine.”

People often take to extremes when fighting for things they believe in, and there is a commendable aspect to that. Gandhi and Mandela were arguably only able to accomplish what they did because of their extreme tactics.

But it becomes hard to fully process the idea of brutally hurting oneself for the sake of a cause, no matter how close to one’s heart it may be.

Thinking about these extreme actions throws into relief the types of safer, but no less intense, types of discourse that happen on American soil. This year’s presidential candidates and their supporters certainly engage in passionate political rhetoric. And what’s lacking in imposition of bodily harm is more than made up for in biting comments (and occasional nastiness) in campaign speeches and advertisements.

As Americans and as Jews, we often are forced to grapple with the tug between passion and tendency towards extremity. Of course the tactics of stereotypical American politicians are hardly ideal, and I would assume that most of us would rather stay away from body burnings, if we can. In order to get the messages we have come across in an effective way, we’ll need to find safe and effectual means of communication.

One of the issues Uri L’Tzedek is passionate about is the gap between current worker wages and a realistic living wage. In the months leading up to this year’s elections, Uri L’Tzedek will host a series of conversations, events, and actions centered on making a difference in civic life. Each event will focus on the campaign to raise the minimum wage in New York State and effective, safe, and respectful ways to make this a reality. Visit our Facebook page or email Dasi for more information.

Week three of our fellowship is ending and we’re all wondering what will come next. We’ve delved into new projects, we’ve started new initiatives and it’s strange to think of what will happen as we continue. What happens when the excitement of newness fades and we are left with only the core of our resolves? We are a brand new team but as we discover the amazing things we can do, we also lose the sheen of our ‘brand new’ status. Do we have the strength as a team to pull through and continue even as the excitement of first times fades into the monotony of follow-ups? What about the first time someone tells us to our face that we lack purpose in our goals of improving ethical consumerism? Will we be able to outlast the attrition, the daily wear and tear of rejection?

As the Three Weeks leading up to Tisha B’av begin, we are forced to confront our relationship with food and recognize how eating habits are often an externalization of our innermost feelings. The despair of exile is experienced through an increased awareness of our ethical standards especially in regards to food. Recognizing this, and recognizing that all things affecting change take time, has helped me focus. The Tav work can be frustrating sometimes but it is one step to targeting the intersection between morality and ethical food consumption.

Uri L'Tzedek Summer Fellowship 2012 at Masbia Soup Kitchen

This week we had the unique privilege of spending a few hours at a soup kitchen and experiencing one more point of intersection. Our visit to Masbia, a fascinating ‘restaurant style’ soup kitchen in Flatbush, was a way of contextualizing our Tav indirect service by juxtaposing it with direct service in the food industry. As we pray for an end to the long and exhausting exile we must recognize that it is not enough to guard what we eat during the Three Weeks. This is also a time to monitor how we eat. To promote achdus, unity of the Jewish people, we must band together and promote ethics over politics. Ignore for a second which rabbi gave which heksher to which restaurant. Recognize instead that the ethics behind the Tav are universal. This is one step, but it is one step closer to a foreshadowing of the ethical unity of the Jewish people that will come when the Temple is rebuilt.

-Elizabeth Phillips, Uri L’Tzedek Summer Fellow 2012

I was really excited to start my fellowship at Uri L’Tzedek since it would be the first time I would be involved directly with social justice work. I had worked before for non-profit organizations doing office work, but never before had I been involved in a relatively new movement. And never before had my presence been of such significance to the running of the organization. One thing in particular that continually impresses me is the enthusiasm shown by the staff members of Uri L’tzedek, particularly Ariel, Yael, and Dasi. Although they often mention the difficulties they encounter, it is quite obvious that they totally love their jobs and strongly believe in what they are doing. Their excitement and passion, along with their easygoing, non-judgmental manner make them pleasure to work with. I also love the group of fellows that I’m working with. We are all very different, which is so cool, because, attending Bais Yaakov and Touro normally doesn’t allow for spending prolonged amounts of time with people who are from really different backgrounds than my own.

During my first week at Uri L’Tzedek, I especially enjoyed the Midnight Run, where we distributed food to people who are homeless. Learning about and discussing social justice was fascinating and stimulating, but actually going out and doing something concrete was even better. It gave me a chance to interact with individuals who I would either not speak with at all, or only exchange a few meaningless words. Conversing with those who are homeless helped me view them in a whole different light, and notice our similarities as opposed to the external differences between us. I was also blown away by the way they persevered a positive attitude despite adversity.

Partnership building (trying to get more restaurants to get the Tav HaYosher) the second week was exhausting, but a lot of fun. I had expected a lot of “you’ve got to be kidding me” or “I really don’t have time for this” looks. Instead, quite a few of the people we spoke with expressed interest, or at least were respectful towards the idea. The second day we went out, we got some negative responses as well. One of the managers we spoke with seemed interested until we said we awarded the Tav to all kosher restaurants, as opposed to a select few that had the “good hashgochos.” He didn’t think his restaurant should be associated with a place with “that hashgocha.” We clearly explained that the Tav is not a hechsher, but he was still against it. It’s really frustrating that people feel that because they can’t agree with an institution on certain matters in Judaism, they can’t be associated at all with that institution. They are giving up opportunities to unite the Jewish people and make a significant difference in society.

In general, I’ve never enjoyed a summer job more than this one. The people I’m working with are awesome, and the mission of Uri L’Tzedek is awesome. I can’t wait to learn more about social justice and to do more Tav work.

- Miriam Darnowsky, Uri L’Tzedek Summer Fellow – NYC 2012

….It took doing the Uri L’Tzedek Summer Fellowship’s annual mandatory-for-fellows Midnight Run on Tuesday night to get me to shut up my over-active hyper-analytical excuse-finding machine that sits atop my neck. We signed up ahead of time, made about 100 sandwiches, put them in paper bags with cookies, juice boxes and snacks, and went in a van to preset spots to give them away. When we handed out the bags, we also spent time talking to the people we saw. This is fraught, too; who are we, to be entitled to their stories and their lives, when we would expect nothing of the kind from the housed? And yet, they spoke to us freely and happily, and those that did not want to talk were not pushed. We learned that Jose’s parents died when he was young, and Cynthia has a nursing degree and a terrible employment agency. Another woman told us she loved us and gave us all hugs. They often formed a network, telling us where their friends were and how long it had been since they’d eaten. One man hadn’t had anything to eat in two days. Overall, they preferred tuna sandwiches to peanut butter. It was wonderful, joyous, friendly, amazing. I felt happy; I felt like the evidence of the happiness and gratefulness I was causing showed I was doing the right thing, or at least a right thing…

Check out the rest of the post on my blog here.

- Chana Messinger, Uri L’Tzedek Summer Fellow 2012 – NYC

I recently saw the movie Good Will Hunting, a movie about a janitor/math genius who is discovered and given the chance to be a world recognized math-god, so long as he gives up his criminal tendencies and attends a weekly

therapy session. I think the movie was meant to be a feel-good story of a kid with a ton of potential who almost wasted it but was saved by altruistic academics, psychological professionals, and the power of love. I would say it pretty much succeeded in creating that story, but one part was bothersome to me. Will (the genius), instead of being thankful for the opportunities given to him by the altruistic professor, essentially spits in his face, skipping meetings and job interviews with him, and being generally disrespectful and unappreciative. At no point in the movie is he reprimanded for this behavior. If anything, it is condoned, as he ends up successful and happy at the end. Something about that struck the wrong note with me.

I often like searching for the connections between the weekly Torah portion and Haftarah. This past week, I found an interesting connection between Parshat Korach and Perek Yud Bet in Sefer Shmuel. In Moshe’s supplication to God not to accept Korach’s sacrifice, he says, “Lo chamor echad me’hem nasati”—not one donkey did I take from them. Similarly, in Shmuel’s response to the nation’s request for a king in the Haftarah, he says, “Et shor mi lakachti vechamor mi lakachti?”—Whose ox did I take and whose donkey did I take?

The language is, obviously, strikingly similar. I think that it reflects a common sentiment in Jewish thought: reciprocity. We have ayin tachat ayin (an eye for an eye) on the one hand, and the sentiment verbalized by Moshe and Shmuel on the other. We repay evil with due punishment, but we try not to repay kindness with evil (sometimes called a kefui tova) and instead be thankful and appreciative, exuding hakarat hatov.

As social justice-minded people, it’s important that we continue to think about this ideal of just reciprocity. We all know that in order to actually affect change, we have to be firm and impassioned activists who don’t settle. But we must also be constantly thankful for the things we accomplish because of the help and support of others and our communities.

-Emily

I recently read a blog post entitled “Things I Wish People Told Me When I Entered My 20s.”[1] Most of it was strange and, frankly, utterly depressing, but one part stuck with me: “You will have moments that will make you feel so exposed and alone. Eating solo star at a restaurant on a Friday night, going to the doctor, walking around aimlessly by yourself at 3 o’clock in the afternoon and deciding to catch a movie, walking home from a bar unattended, taking a long subway ride by yourself, waiting at the airport for someone to pick you up…” He explained that this was not something that was always hurtful, but in the wrong mood, being alone can be very painful.

That really got me thinking. In some ways, I guess I am a loner. I’ve always liked shopping by myself, reading by myself, exercising by myself.

But it ends there. At the end of a day, I always need to be with people. I, like most people, depend on family and friends to help me during hard times, share joy with me in happy times, and alleviate my boredom in, well, boring times.

The Torah certainly alludes to the difficulty of being alone. We are taught that in the event that somebody speaks lashon hara (evil words) he or she is sent out of the camp. In last week’s parsha, Miriam was banished to the outer camp when she spoke badly about her brother, Moshe. But the Torah makes a point of saying, “Viha’am lo nasah ad heasef Miriam”—the nation did not travel until they gathered Miriam. There was certainly a place for the punishment that Miriam endured for speaking lashon hara, but there was also a place for reunification with the camp of Israel.

Today was the first ever congressional hearing on solitary confinement and its detrimental effects on people. Whether or not these claims are true is hard to say. But I can tell, even from my very limited experience, that being alone can be good and also bad. It can be a time of reflection, introspection, and genuine soul-searching. But when being alone is taken to an extreme, it can hurt and even be dangerous.

Check out Uri L’Tzedek’s website to get to know our prison reform campaign and find out how to get involved!

-Emily

Last night was one of those nights in which I found myself in an extremely uncomfortable conversation with a customer service employee overseas. There I was, charged for an airline fee that I shouldn’t have been charged, and I wanted to set it straight.

It’s a tough balance to strike—we want to be respectful and treat them like we would treat a friend, but we also know that we are entering this conversation with opposing interests. So what to do?

As a younger person, I rarely even made these phone calls. I was too embarrassed at the thought of having it out with an innocent employee on the phone. But as I got older I began to take on more of the “eat or be eaten” attitude. How could I get what I want without pushing for it?
And so I came to be tentatively dialing the airline phone number in my room, prepping myself for a respectful but forceful conversation.

Of course it didn’t end up that way—the woman who answered the phone had a smaller-than-average dose of patience and the same could have been said for me. Before long I think we both said things we shouldn’t have, and I didn’t even end up getting the refund I wanted—just some travel credit towards another flight on this airline (classic).

In life, I think we sometimes face people we can’t figure out how to respect—evil teachers, public figures with bad reputations, and the like.

But the Torah teaches us in a definitive way that we owe respect to all of God’s creatures by virtue of the fact that we all come from the same place. And this respect is irrelevant of disagreement: we can strongly oppose someone’s viewpoint while still refraining from hurting or publicly humiliating them. Even with enough information to determine a person’s wrongdoing, we still owe that person a degree of respect and recognition of that person’s humanity and dignity.

It is with that sentiment that Uri L’Tzedek embarks on its Prison Reform Campaign. Criminals are viewed as the lowest tier of any society, having harmed others or otherwise damaged functional society. But everyone, from the harmless-but-frustrating customer service employee to the worst of criminals deserves a modicum of respect.

To learn more about the Uri L’Tzedek Prison Reform Campaign, see our website here.

-Emily

This week, the New York Times published an article that described the displeasure of many Chinese officials at the American Embassy’s insistence on publishing information about China’s horrendous air quality. The article cites a Chinese official who says that it’s not that they don’t want to regulate their air quality, they just don’t want results of observations to be publicized to the world.

To an American, this sentiment is troubling, to say the least. Orwell’s 1984 and similar dystopic warnings have instilled within us the value of transparency; WikiLeaks taught us how to take that sentiment to the extreme. Americans pride themselves on never allowing issues to slip under the rug and “not be discussed.”

As Jews, however, the relationship between truth and publication of truth, especially when it relates to the Jewish community, is more complicated. The imperative to avoid a chilul Hashem (desecration of God’s name) and create a kiddush Hashem (sanctification of God’s name) seems to imply that we can’t really just say whatever we want about the Jewish community, if we think it may give our community a bad name.

Those who have made especially incendiary comments have sometimes been criticized for airing the laundry of the Jewish community. But others feel that this value of keeping the good name can be taken to an extreme and can serve to cover up serious issues.

On Wednesday June 13^th, Uri L’Tzedek will be hosting a Social Justice Beit Midrash at the JCC in Manhattan on the topic of Child Abuse Intervention. While there is certainly a value in Jewish tradition to make a good name for the Jewish people, there is also a value to explore difficult issues and the possibility of taking action when things are not right. Pinchas, the Torah’s token kanai (zealot), acted to save the Jewish people from improper action. He recognized that by mixing with the Midianites, Bnei Yisrael’s commitment to God was compromised and the name of God was tarnished. At times, our community must act as Pinchas, evaluating our values and acting out in support of them, despite the discomfort and difficulty in doing so.

Join us at the Social Justice Beit Midrash to hear author Talia Carner and founder of JSafe, Rabbi Mark Dratch, speak about the issue and learn what we can do to help!

-Emily

Last week was Israel’s 64^th birthday. Happy Birthday Israel! And in following the tradition of giving speeches that include stories about the birthday boy (I assume Israel is a boy, it is a boy’s name), I will tell one.

When I was 18, I spent a gap year in a seminary in Bet Shemesh, Israel. An experience like nothing other, it was a year where all I was expected to do was to learn and think and experience and remember what it means to be Jewish and someone who has an investment in the state of Israel.

One incident that really stood out from that year was Israel Independence Day. The night before, we spent it dancing with the communities in Chashmoniam and eating BBQ at our Rabbi’s house. It was a very typical night for Yom Ha’atzmaut (Israel Independence Day).

The next day we had off from classes and I came up with the idea that I was going to walk to Jerusalem. I had this notion that today we were going to do it like our ancestors, no more of these buses for spoiled modern day people. My only regret was that I didn’t have a camel (there is nothing in this lifetime that I enjoy more than a good camel ride). I was going to be Independent! And walk there on my own! Onwards to Jerusalem! What could go wrong?

I gathered up four of my bravest (or dumbest?) friends, packed up some water (or iced tea in my case, because I was the ringleader of dumb) and walked to the highway. Dressed in blue and white, with little Israeli flags fastened to our backpacks we marched down Route 38 as a tiny Israeli Day Parade. Every time a car honked at us, a cheer went up. We shouted ‘Am Yisroel Chai!’ to every confused driver. We were walking for two and half hours and not even one third of the way there.

Finally, we got to Route One, a busier highway than the previous. It was then we decided to take a shortcut through the hills, since it was already the afternoon and we hadn’t thought to bring a map, and wouldn’t be able to navigate when it got dark. We shrugged it off and decided to forge our own path through the woods. We had finished our water a little while ago and at least two of us were starting to feel sick. We walked through the woods until there was no cell phone service. Soon, we were thirsty and tired and lost.

After an hour of hiking, we all heard an engine behind us. And heard the yells of young boys, but what they were saying we couldn’t make out. Were they Arabs? “Arsim”? Israeli soldiers who wanted to escort us safely home? We didn’t know so we made the decision to jump in the nearby bushes and hide. We sat for about 20 minutes, but it seemed like an eternity. Hardly breathing, thoughts of Kobi Mandell and other unfortunate innocent hikers passed through our mind. It was then we finally realized that Israel isn’t a little spiritual playground made for us, but actually a potentially dangerous area. Finally, the trucks passed, thankfully not noticing us and we slowly moved on.

It was getting dark by now and even though we followed the path until the end, we still ended up on Route One. Despite protests from my friends, I didn’t want to give up and take a bus for the last 15 minutes. I convinced them that walking alongside the highway in the dark was going to show our independence! Until we reached a 50-foot drop which was a tunnel going under the highway. So, we silently made our way to the nearest Egged bus stop. And from the Tachana we walked to the Kotel.

Even though finally touching the Kotel after our huge ordeal was amazing and rewarding, I couldn’t figure out why I hadn’t made it all the way to Jerusalem on sheer will power. Isn’t that what Israel was about? Doing the impossible?

It wasn’t until a week later during a shiur that I realized no, that’s not what Israel is about. I learned that the word for ‘independence’ in Hebrew is a relatively new word. “Atzma’ut” was developed by Itamat Ben Avi (Eliezer Ben Yehuda’s son) in the 20th century. It is rooted in the Hebrew word “atzmi” and “birshut atzmo” which connote doing something independently, on one’s own steam. It’s not a biblical word because being ‘independent’ is not a real thing in Judaism. We are never doing things alone, we must always be aware of our family, our community and God above us.  Israel didn’t become “independent” through one person fighting; it became independent through thousands of Jews and non-Jews alike coming together for a cause. No one person can do anything in this life without the help of others. As Jewish people, we need each other to survive, whether through charity, visiting a sick person, in prayers, in holidays and especially in keeping Israel safe. It also made me realize that until we all feel safe hiking in the Israel, our job isn’t done.

Israel’s “Independence” Day has taught me that no one is a lone wolf in our journey as Jews. We might be able to govern our country on our own, but it needs everyone to keep it running, from the dumb seminary girls who create their own parades in the woods to the bus drivers who carry them the last leg of their trip. We can only function with each other. Am Yisroel Chai.

Why don’t you give helping out your  a shot and the Uri L’Tzedek Summer Fellowship in NY or LA Today? Fellows will have the opportunity to work on Uri L’Tzedek’s campaigns, including worker rights, prison reform and domestic violence. Some of the innovative projects include, Tav HaYosher (the ethical seal for kosher restaurants), organizational development, communications, education, service, community outreach, website development, and multi-media.

Please see here for further details on the Israel track.

– Aviva

My family seders are pretty much the same year after year. No matter how old we get or how far we travel, when we are thrown back into our childhood house, everyone will somewhat revert back to their childhood roles. My sister will loudly interject random thoughts at every silence, my brother will spend most of the time quietly reading his book and I will get out of awkward conversations with older relatives by claiming to “have something in the kitchen to check on.”

Every year, we’ll read the same story, eat the same matzah and check our watches at the same point during Maggid. But this year, something a little different “cropped up.”

This year, one of the members of the Rabbis for Human Rights-North America, an organization of rabbis in NY that are dedicated to respecting and protecting the human rights of all people, Rabbi Paula Marcus has taken it upon herself to place a tomato on her seder plate to show solidarity with the migrant workers of today, many of whom are underpaid and work in unsanitary and dangerous conditions. Just like the orange on the seder plate, which popped up on seder plates in the 1980s to advocate for women’s roles in Judaism but is now largely associated with a symbol to include gays and lesbians in the Jewish community, the tomato is seeing some controversial reactions.

All opinions are welcome and discussed at my family’s seder but when a daughter of a family friend’s brought up the tomato, the seder lost its usual predictable pace and led to a long discussion which pushed Shulchan Aruch back about an hour.

The debate was this: Should we have a tomato on the seder plate? Is it the appropriate time to commiserate with those in slavery today?

And to answer that we need to ask: what is the seder essentially?

Is it a commemoration of a Jewish event in Jewish history set in the order written down over one thousand years ago and which every Jew will take part in whether in 15th century Spain or in 2012 via Skype? Is it a sacred ritual that discusses how we as a people formed the resilient nation we have today?

Or is the seder a living breathing process to which we can add our own customs depending on our society? Is the seder receptive to growth and changes? Do we use the seder as a vehicle to protest slavery that is still going on today even if those slaves aren’t necessarily Jewish?

Is it both?

I must admit that I don’t think it was solved at my seder (I think at some point my mom gave the “let’s wrap it up” look to my dad which ended the debate pretty quickly) but I think it’s an important topic everybody must discuss.

The concept of adding to the seder is not a new phenomenon; throughout the years many things have been added such as olives to symbolize the hope for peace in the Middle East, artichokes for interfaith families and rotten lettuce leaves, a proposal by the Progressive Jewish Alliance to remind us of the low-income families.

If we keep adding symbols for every problem and war in the world, our table would be covered in cocoa beans, pictures of the Dalai Lama, bricks, beached whales, landmines and orphaned sloths! There is literally no end to the symbols we could add because unfortunately we live in a world where there is endless suffering.

We don’t need these on our table. The seder, as it is, is already about remembering the past and preparing for the future. We don’t need a tomato on the table to remind us of suffering.

We need to focus on the lesson of Passover itself first. We need to learn from the Four Sons how important it is to ask questions, or to just show up if you don’t have questions. We need to learn from the 10 plagues how sometimes, praying and being passive isn’t enough. We need to learn from spilling of the wine that we’re not happy about taking force and that lives lost are still God’s creations. We need to learn from Dayenu how to be grateful. We need to learn from the Four Questions how important children are to our future. All these lessons are needed for us to then go out and create a fair society in which migrant workers get paid.

We need to taste the saltwater tears and sing ‘Next Year in Jerusalem’.

Only once we know where we come from can we become who we need to be, whether that’s someone who champions for rights of sweatshop workers or someone who takes in those sloths.

As one guest at my seder wisely noted, “It’s our job to be a light unto the nations, but we need to remember the source of the light.”

– Aviva