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Dor Hadash exemplifies virtues of Reconstructionist Judaism

By Rabbi Deborah Waxman, Ph.D., president of Reconstructing Judaism

Over Shabbat Ki Teitzei (the weekend of September 12-14), Seth Rosen, chair of the board of governors, and I visited Congregation Dor Hadash in Pittsburgh. I had driven to Pittsburgh on October 28 last year to be with the community immediately after the shooting and brought the prayers and support of tens of thousands of Reconstructionists. It felt essential at that time to plan to return at another moment, both to support the congregation through crisis and to be with them beyond and apart from tragedy. The timing of our visit was intentional: we came toward the end of eleven months of mourning for Dr. Jerry Rabinowitz (z”l), a week before the unveiling of his matzevah (gravestone), and, obviously, a month before the first anniversary. We were welcomed by a gorgeous, resilient, weary, traumatized, energized community. The members of Dor Hadash are, of course, deeply affected by the events of last October 27, as victims, mourners and activists. And they are full of aspirations and interests far beyond October 27.

We share with you Seth’s beautiful dvar torah from Shabbat morning on remembering to forget Amalek; an op-ed he and I co-wrote to explain the beauty of a lay-led congregation to reporters and Jewish community leaders; and links to updates on Dor Hadash from the last year. As the central organization of the Reconstructionist movement, we seek to deploy our resources to support, celebrate and amplify all communities affiliated with the Reconstructionist movement, in times of joy and sorrow, and to connect communities with each other to do the same. Going forward, we feel special commitment to helping the members of Dor Hadash heal and make meaning from last year’s terrible events. We hope you will join us in these efforts.



Amalek: How to Remember, How to Forget

(This teaching on Parashat Ki Teitzei was given by Seth Rosen, chair of our board of governors, at Congregation Dor Hadash, Pittsburgh, Pa.  on Sept. 14, 2019)

Shabbat shalom!

I want to begin by telling you what a privilege it is to stand in front of this community, and how grateful my wife Joan and I are for your invitation to be a part of this congregation, even if only for one Shabbat weekend.

As we just read, Ki Teitzei is pretty much just a list of laws; it includes 74 of the 613 mitzvot, more than any other parashah. Of those 74, 73 of them, all but the last, deal in a pretty wide-ranging way with rules applicable to interpersonal relationships and personal behavior — rules of commerce, rules of marriage and divorce; frankly, it’s kind of all over the place. I do not want to focus my time this morning on the first 73 laws. I would like to focus on the very end of Ki Teitzei — Deuteronomy chapter 25, verses 17-19 — and actually on just the last five or so words of those verses, in which we are told that we must never forget to remember to forget Amalek. Reading from the Everett Fox translation:

Bear-in-mind what Amalek did to you on the way, at your going out from Egypt, how he encountered you on the way and attacked your tail — all the beaten down ones in your rear — while you were weary and faint, and (thus) he did not stand in awe of God. So it shall be: When Adonai your God gives you rest from your enemies in the land Adonai your God is giving you as an inheritance, and you possess and settle in it, you are to blot out the name of Amalek from under the heavens. You are not to forget.

What does that mean … we should never forget to remember to blot out the memory of Amalek? How do you do that? How can we not forget to remember to forget?

First of all, who is Amalek? We have to remember before we can forget.

As today’s portion reminds us, we have encountered Amalek in the Torah before: in Parashat Beshalakh, Exodus, chapter 17. There, we are told that within days of crossing the Red Sea, the Israelites were attacked by Amalek. Moses sends Joshua to raise an army and to battle against Amalek. As long as Moses holds up his arms, the Israelites prevail in battle; when he lets his arms down, the Amalekites take the advantage. In the end, Aaron and Hur help Moses to hold up his arms, and Amalek is defeated. On its face, it’s not much of a story. Certainly, it’s not the worst thing that happens to the Israelites; yet we are not told to blot out the name of Pharaoh, who killed the firstborn. Nonetheless, at the end of Beshalakh, God tells Moses: “I will blot out the memory of Amalek from under the heavens.” And Moses says: “Adonai will be at war with Amalek throughout the ages.”

What’s that all about? Today’s retelling of the story adds a new gloss not mentioned in Exodus: that Amalek did not attack the Israelites head on, but attacked the weak and the sick, the stragglers at the rear of the columns escaping from Egypt through the wilderness. One interpretation is that by attacking the weak and the sick, the Amalekites displayed a basic lack of human decency, and therefore, were an affront to the very concept of godliness embodied not only in the Torah, but in the basic laws of decency applicable to all people. Another midrash teaches that the real sin of Amalek was that he robbed the Israelites of their idealism, and taught them that, despite the promise of God’s protection, the world could be a dangerous place.

We encounter the Amalekites again in the first book of Samuel. Saul is sent by the prophet Samuel to do battle with Amalek and instructed, in effect, to commit genocide — to quite literally (much too literally) fulfill the law that we read today: that Amalek’s name be blotted out from the earth. Saul is instructed: “Have no pity on him; kill man and woman alike, infant and suckling alike, ox and sheep alike, camel and donkey alike.” Although Saul is victorious, he does not complete the genocide. He allows, among others, Agag, the king of the Amalekites, to live, and keeps the best of the livestock. Because he does not complete the genocide, Saul loses his kingdom. In the rabbinic tradition, Saul’s failure to destroy the Amalekites completely has consequences in history: Haman, who is described in the book of Esther as “Haman the Agagite,” is seen by the tradition as a direct descendant of the King Agag, whose life was spared by Saul, and another descendant of Amalek. In this tradition, when we swing our groggers on Purim to drown out the name of Haman, we were fulfilling the mitzvah of “blotting out the name of Amalek.”

All pretty literal for me.

A Chassidic scholar of the late 18th and early 19th centuries1 focuses us on the first phrase of the section I read earlier—“remember that which Amalek did to you”—and reads it to mean “remember that you can become Amalek.”  Remember, he is saying, confrontations with evil can bring out the evil in ourselves: the impulse to be ruled by our anger; the urge to attack first; or the desire for revenge.

Rabbi Sampson Rachael Hirsch, in around 1860, expanded on that thought. He wrote: “Do not forget this thing when the day comes and your yourself suffer Amalek’s violence and coarseness. Keep standing straight. Preserve the humanity and values of justice that you learned from your God. The future belongs to them [meaning those values], and in the end, humanity and justice will overcome coarseness and violence. You yourself were sent in order to bring near — with your very example — that overcoming and that future.” In that tradition, Amalek is the inclination to evil that we each harbor somewhere deep inside, and that can be provoked when we are forced to confront the evil in others. Remembering to forget Amalek is the act of overcoming that inclination towards evil — the impulse to act in a manner that is not consistent with our sacred values.

This recurrence of Amalek in story after story inspires another, less literal, tradition: the view that Amalek is not the particular enemy identified in Exodus and his direct descendants, but the inclination to evil itself—the embodiments of evil that become manifest throughout history. In her book, Studies in Devarim, the scholar Nehama Leibowitz sums up this approach, which has roots in the rabbinic tradition that go back centuries. She writes: “Amalek is the archetype of the Godless, who attack the weak because they are weak, who cut down the stragglers in every generation.”

In this reading, we see Amaleks rise and fall throughout history. Amalek is, in effect, everyone who attacked and persecuted the Jewish people throughout the centuries—the ones who drove us into exile; the perpetrators of the inquisition and the pogroms; the Nazis; and, yes, the face of modern terrorism. But we have to remember that we Jews do not have a monopoly on Amaleks; in just the last century, the Armenians, the European Roma, the Cambodians, the Bosnian Muslims, the Rohingya people and god knows how many others have been set upon by their own Amaleks. When I read about the vulnerable Israelites being attacked as they are marching through the desert, I find it hard not to picture the non-violent marchers in Selma being attacked with clubs and dogs and fire hoses.

So, what can it mean to be told that we should remember to forget — to blot out the names — of those persecutors?

This vision of Amalek as representing an ever-changing embodiment of evil over the millennia leads me to what is to me a haunting, but perhaps, ultimately, the most fulfilling, reading of today’s parashah.

Deuteronomy takes the form of Moses’ valedictory speech to the Israelites right before he dies. Picture Moses, the prophet, standing before the assembled Israelites for the last time. Imagine that, as a prophet, what he saw in front of him was not just the people of his time, but that as he looked out, what he saw laid out in front of him was all of the history of the Jewish people and all of the Jews of every generation, including the victims of scores of Amaleks from across the millennia. But if he was a true prophet, he didn’t just see the tragedies that would beset the Jewish people over time, but also saw the depth and beauty of everything that Jews and Judaism would bring into the world in the millennia to follow: the psalms and the Talmud; rich traditions of prayer, song and literature; the beauty of Shabbat; the traditions of the Kabbalists and the Chassidim; the theory of relativity; and Ruth Bader Ginsburg. There’s Moses, both burdened and buoyed by his vision of our future, laying out the terms of the covenant for all of history — exhorting each of us, across time, to a live holy life and build a culture grounded in our shared covenantal obligation to bring godliness into the world.

But he knows what’s coming. He looks at this assembly and he thinks to himself, “You don’t know this, but here are going to be a lot of Amaleks. Life is always going to be hard.” And he knows, and the Torah implicitly acknowledges, that human nature being what it is, we will never forget the Amaleks of history or of the present. Who can forget those evils? And they keep coming back. Frankly, the Torah makes no real pretense that the name and memory of Amalek will really be blotted out from the world. It’s right in the Torah. We will read Amalek’s name and remember what he has done twice a year, when we read Beshalakh and Ki Teitzei. That’s not getting blotted out. We read it again when the verses I am discussing right now are read as the maftir on Shabbat Zachor, the Shabbat before Purim. We’re not going to blot out the memory of all the Amaleks. The memory is too sharp. The reality of evil is much too vivid. We’re going to remember.

So why does Moses tell us that we should also remember to forget?

Maybe the Torah is telling us that, at least from time to time, we have to force ourselves to forget the Amaleks. Moses the prophet saw the full richness of our history and the danger that even the memory of that richness could be lost to a succession of Amaleks. Our history cannot just be the stories of the Amaleks who have attacked and tried to destroy is. That can’t be our story. Our story is the clarity of our enduring values — the beauty and the depth of what we have brought into the world. Amalek is not a figment of our imaginations; the world has seen and will continue to see too many Amaleks. But we cannot and should not let Amalek take away the power to define who we are. Rather, we must make the conscious choice — we must remember, at least from time to time, to forget — so that we take control of the narrative, and build our identity and our history out of that which sustains us. It is true for us, as it is for the Armenians, the Roma, the Cambodians, the Rohingya and every other group of people who have encountered Amalek. The story of each civilization, of each nation, of each community must be defined by its members—not by those who seek to harm or destroy it — and it must be filled with the lives that were lived and the values those lives embodied, and not just the memory of victimhood. We’ll remember Amalek; we couldn’t forget him if we tried. But once in a while, at least, we should remember to forget the Amaleks and find identity in our culture, our values and our tradition as they abide and evolve through the ages. Maybe that’s what Moses wanted us to do.

Look, I understand the implications of what I am saying, standing in front of this congregation. I wouldn’t presume to stand in front of the members of this community, of all people, and claim some great wisdom about how to confront evil. But I do want to point to the example you have set for the rest of us in the Reconstructionist movement and beyond. In particular, I can think of no better examples of adhering to our values, and of not letting evil define us, than the letters sent from this community in support of a plea bargain that would preclude the death penalty for the perpetrator of the attack on Oct. 27, 2018, and your advocacy for effective gun laws. I quote from your statement: “We continue to reject hatred and all systems of oppression, and follow the tenets of our faith, which teaches us that only through our shared humanity can there be an end to hatred and violence.”

In the end, I think that is what it means to remember to forget Amalek. I understand that you never wanted to be our example — that you would have given anything not to be that example. But you have taught us and forced us to wonder whether we would have your strength on the day on which, God forbid, we might be in your shoes. I’m going to ask you to do more. I know it isn’t fair. Reach out to Reconstructionist communities across North America and ask us — give us the opportunity — to stand with you in support of our shared values and to join you in your advocacy. I promise you, thousands of Reconstructionists are eager to support you and stand with you.

As I said when I began, it is a privilege to stand in front of this community, and Joan and I are so grateful for your invitation to be a part of this sacred congregation. We very much hope that our new relationship will continue.



Members of Dor Hadash standing with Israeli flags and a banner that reads: Dor Hadash Dor L'Dor

Dor Hadash congregants pose for a photo at the congregation’s social action picnic in 2000. (Senator John Heinz History Center)

Dor Hadash exemplifies virtues of Reconstructionist Judaism

By Rabbi Deborah Waxman, Ph.D., president of Reconstructing Judaism and Seth Rosen, chair of our board of governors

Originally published in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette on Sept. 23, 2019

As leaders of the Reconstructionist movement — a small but historically influential stream of Judaism — we had the great honor of spending a recent weekend with the members of Dor Hadash, one of our affiliated communities.

Nearly one year ago, our hearts were in our throats when we learned that the Tree of Life building, where Dor Hadash had been meeting since 2010, was under attack. We mourned all victimized and those lost, and agonized for the entire Pittsburgh community. We felt Dor Hadash’s pain acutely: We mourned for Dr. Jerry Rabinowitz (z”l) and prayed for Dan Leger’s healing and for the well-being of the other community members in or on their way into the building that morning.

Dor Hadash, which means “new generation” in Hebrew, has persevered in the face of tragedy and adversity. Reconstructing Judaism, the central organization of the Reconstructionist movement, has offered assistance where possible, and the generosity of the Jewish and general communities has both been inspiring and made a real difference.

Still, the community has been upheld by the care, engagement, passion, humility and wisdom of its members. During our recent visit, we encountered a group of people wrestling with loss, and committed to building and rebuilding a community based on its core values, engagement and love.

One thing we heard is that, in the aftermath of Oct. 27, 2018, members of Dor Hadash often feel that they are called on to explain who they are as a religious community, and to explain why their core Jewish beliefs compel them to engage in social activism as an important component of their response to the horrific attack.

The primary reasons for this seem to be 1) the community is not led by a rabbi or other full-time clergy and 2) Dor Hadash is affiliated with the Reconstructionist movement, which is not as well-known as the other major branches of Judaism — the Reform, Conservative and Orthodox movements.

The Reconstructionist movement was established in America nearly 100 years ago on three core principles:

  • A commitment to diversity, the recognition that throughout Jewish history there have been many ways to be and do Jewish and that an embrace of this diversity strengthens the Jewish community.
  • The understanding that the Jewish people and the civilization we create is vital and ever-changing. Although our values and beliefs are deeply rooted in the history and traditions of Judaism, we have the right, the opportunity and even the obligation, to “reconstruct” Judaism in each generation in order for it to remain relevant in our lives.
  • A passionate belief that democracy emerges from and points toward universal truths.

Reconstructionists also believe passionately that we have a religious obligation, through the generations, to bring justice, fairness and loving kindness into the world. That commitment is predicated on our commitment to see, in each person and all of creation, the image of the divine. For many Reconstructionist communities, those beliefs compel us to activism, so that we can play a meaningful role in creating a just and safe society for all.

These principles, especially the commitment to democratic practice, infuse the nearly 100 congregations affiliated with the Reconstructionist movement. We believe in empowered communities and view rabbis as guides and teachers, but not as solo decision-makers. Instead, lay people partner with rabbis and educators to shape the religious and cultural practices of each community.

As leaders of the Reconstructionist movement, we hold Dor Hadash up as a powerful example of an active and engaged lay-led Jewish community. Members create the community in which they want to live, through intensive planning, discussion and implementation. They partner with professionals — cantors, rabbis and educators — but overwhelmingly it is the members themselves who lead services, conduct life cycle rituals, visit sick community members, teach classes, engage in social justice work and more.

The community’s deliberate choice not to have a rabbi has made it more challenging for communal leaders and reporters to interact with and understand. There is no figurehead: Dor Hadash is a community that is genuinely composed of its members. This is a great strength, and we urge communal leaders and opinion makers to recognize Dor Hadash itself — in all dealings around the attack, as an exemplar of vibrant Jewish life.

We learned much from the wise and brave and hardworking members of Dor Hadash, and we urge the greater Pittsburgh community to do the same. It is about honoring communities of religious and cultural diversity, the kind of pluralism birthed by our nation’s founders and nurtured through America’s turbulent history. It is about rejecting the intolerance and hate of a murderer and embracing what our nation is about: the blending of disparate voices into a sometimes discordant but always beautiful democratic chorus.

Rabbi Deborah Waxman, Ph.D., is the president of Reconstructing Judaism. Seth Rosen is the chair of our board of governors.

  • 1. The Ma’or va Shemesh (Rabbi Kalonymus Kalman Halevi Epstein)

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