|
|
||
HOME
|
|
Outreach, Inreach, and JudaismAre We All Turkeys?February 2003From the Desk of Rabbi CohonThere is a great deal of emphasis being placed on outreach to unaffiliated Jews these days. And well there should be: according to the controversial recent population data, only about 17% of Jews living in Tucson are affiliated. We have been fundamentally committed to outreach at Temple Emanu-El, and there is little doubt that our work in Taste of Judaism, our Simply Shabbat services and our Northwest Outreach have fueled a good portion of our dramatic growth from 350 families to 725 families in just three and a half years. But outreach remains controversial, both for those doing the outreach and those to whom we are, well, "reaching out". What does it mean to reach out to another Jew, one who is seemingly unconnected to Judaism and our community? How do we do it, and how does that change us? There is a famous Hasidic story told by Rabbi Nahman of Bratslav, the great 18th century tzadik, that speaks-or even squawks-to the question of how we might best do outreach. A prince of a great country who fell ill, went mad, and decided he was a turkey. He refused to wear clothes, sat underneath the dining table, and would eat only kernels of dried corn. The king, his father, was distraught. He called a succession of physicians to help his son the prince, but none could. One day a wise teacher approached the king. "I know of your tragedy, and I can help. Let me live in your home for a while. Be patient and I will make him well again." The sage approached the royal table, quietly undressed, and sat down naked next to the prince. After a period of silence, the teacher asked the prince, "So, how long have you been a turkey?" "Always," says the prince. "I just realized I could start acting that way. And you?" "I don't know," answered the teacher, "But I thought you could use some company. We turkeys should stay together." And so they stayed for a while, companionably. Weeks passed. The "turkeys" grew accustomed to each other and became good friends. They ate corn, drank from tin plates and discussed the advantages of being domesticated birds rather than men. One night, when the royal family was having dinner, the wise man signaled to the king, whose servants brought two silk robes and cautiously placed them under the table. The sage put on one of the robes, and before the king's son could utter a word he proudly announced, "Some dumb turkeys are so insecure they believe putting on a silk robe might endanger their identity." The prince thought for a moment, nodded his head and put on a robe himself. Some days later the wise man once again signaled the king. Beef, potatoes, and fresh vegetables were brought and placed on the ground near the sage. Looking quite pleased with himself, the wise man bit into his food and declared, "Delicious! It's good to be a turkey sophisticated enough to enjoy the food of men." The prince quickly agreed and hungrily ate his fill. Eventually, the teacher called for silverware and asked to be served from the king's good china. "After all," he explained to the prince, "why shouldn't intelligent turkeys want the best for themselves?" Finally, after many months the sage got up from the floor and came and sat down at the table. While eating and drinking with the royal family, he called down to the prince and said, "Come join me. The food is the same but the chairs make a difference. Besides we turkeys have a lot to offer. Why should we restrict ourselves by remaining aloof? Our ideas can benefit the minds of men." The king's son came and sat by the table. It was only a matter of time until he was cured. That story, for me, demonstrates exactly how outreach to Jews is done best. If we wish to reach the many Jews who haven't yet found a reason to join us-and their partners-we must first join them, where they are, as they are. When we then invite them to participate with us, to explore the dignity and elegance of Judaism, to discover the joy and meaning of our-and their-tradition, we do so as friends and colleagues. They will come to sit at the table because they are invited to do so by someone who is much like they are-someone who seeks authenticity and meaning honestly. And when we teach Judaism in this way, gently and by example, we reshape and deepen our own commitment. May we all find ways to reach out to those around us, and help them discover their own connection to our great and holy Jewish religion. L'shalom v'reiut, in peace and friendship, Rabbi Samuel M. Cohon P.S. There is an epilogue to that story of the prince who thought he was a turkey. It is told that even though he lived the rest of his life as a prince, even though he never again acted like a fowl-in his heart, he always knew he was a turkey… We'll explore that next month! |
