All Learning Begins with a QuestionRosh Hashanah Morning, 5772Community Synagogue of RyeRabbi Daniel Gropper

Woody Allen, that great Jewish sage, once took a course in existential philosophy. When he walked in for the final exam, there was a table with a coke bottle on it. On the chalk board was a single question. “Prove the existence of this Coke Bottle.” Woody sat down, took his pencil in hand and wrote three words, “What Coke Bottle?” He got up and left. He got an A.

At its heart, Woody was standing in a long line of Jewish philosophers and sages. You know the old joke: someone asks a Jewish friend “why do Jews always answer a question with a question?” – and the Jew responds, “Why not?”

Judaism expects us to ask questions. There is a famous story in the Midrash: A heathen once asked R. Joshua b. Karhah: Why did God choose a thorn-bush from which to speak to Moses? He replied: Were it a carob tree or a sycamore tree, you would have asked the same question; but to dismiss you without any reply is not right, so I will tell you why. To teach you that no place is devoid of God's presence, not even a thorn-bush. (Shemot Rabbah II:5).

No place is devoid of God’s presence, and so, Rabbi Joshua teaches us, no ques-tion is without the potential for revealing truth. Perhaps that is why Judaism has elevated the art of questioning to the status of holiness, and enshrined questions in our holiest books and our holiest moments.

In preparing for this sermon I did a quick search of the Talmud the other day (it is good to live in the Digital Age). In the standard English translation, the word “question” appears 3,216 times, the word answer less than half as many. Perhaps this is to teach us that there are some questions to which there are no ready answers. And perhaps it is to re-mind us of how important asking good questions is for our own learning and growth.

As a rabbi I get asked lots of questions. Some are really easy. Are string beans kosher for Passover? Yes. If I can’t make it for my mother’s yahrzeit next week, can her name be read the week after? Of course.

Every now and then, I get harder ones, ones that require more consideration:“I research Alzheimer’s disease, which requires live tissue, available only by harvesting from aborted fetuses. Is this acceptable in Judaism?”“Is produce picked by underpaid migrant workers kosher?”“Do I have to say kaddish for my father who abused me?These are all real questions posed to me over the years. The answers, by the way, are: yes, such research is acceptable, with some caveats; no, such produce is not kosher; and no - despite the Jewish emphasis on honoring one’s parents, an abusive parent releases their child from the obligation to say Kaddish.

But let me tell you that none of these questions compare to the one a friend of mine was asked.

Ten years ago, in mid September of 2001, my friend, Rabbi Jeff Salkin, then of a congregation in the New York area, was on his way to visit someone in the hospital when a woman stopped him in the corridor of the synagogue. She said, "Rabbi, I have a ques-

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tion." He answered, "Yes, what is it? But please, make it quick if you can, I’m already late."

"Rabbi,” she said, “I live on the Upper East Side of Manhattan and my windows are covered with the grime that has drifted uptown since ‘you know what’ happened. I need to clean my windows, but I am afraid there may be remains of the dead in that dust. If there are, it doesn’t seem right to just have the windows cleaned. What should I do?"

The question stopped him in his tracks.Knowing that this question was much too serious to quickly brush off, Rabbi

Salkin stopped and thought, and then he gave her a brilliant answer. "You’re right, you shouldn’t just clean the windows as if it was any other time — this is what you should do. Take some paper towels and warm water and carefully wipe the windows clean, as clean as you can. Then carefully put the towels into an envelope and take them to a Jewish fu-neral home. Tell them what they are and ask them to bury them the next time they have a funeral."

The woman nodded, thanked him, and that is precisely what she did.Somehow she knew, there was a Jewish answer out there. She knew that even in

this incomparable and unprecedented situation, there was a choice to make, a blessing to choose, a way to sanctify life, to choose life. And whether it was serendipity or provi-dence, she encountered someone who had an answer.

At its heart, these are the types of questions we look to Judaism to answer. Yet it seems that far too often, we haven’t developed, in our children or in ourselves, the capac-ity to keep asking questions. Instead of viewing Judaism as a tradition that can help us seek answers for the questions of daily life, we relegate our Judaism to experiences for our kids, holiday observances, and the occasional life cycle experience - hardly some-thing to sustain a religious tradition that was intended to be quotidian.

Why did we stop asking? One reason is that we were told not to. The Talmud speaks of something known as the ta’amei ha’mitzvot, the rationale for the command-ments and cautions us about spending too much time pondering the reasons for doing them (Sanhedrin 21b). Why? Well, if you think about it too much, you might never get to observing them and Judaism is a religion of deed, not creed. Second, if you spend too much time thinking about why you do something, you might just come up with reasons not to do it. Better not to ask.

Rabbi Harold Schulweis tells a story from his own life that gets at the heart of this. “I think back on my own early Jewish education,” he says. “My zayde was my first teacher. He taught me Chumash and Rashi and later Gemara. He answered my questions but only some questions, only those that had to do with translation and the literal texts. But when I asked him questions that I suspect all of us had, about the speaking serpent of the Garden of Eden or the menagerie of animals packed in Noah's ark or the abdominal hospitality the whale offered the fugitive Jonah — he smiled benignly, gave me a “knip in bekel,” (pinch in cheek) and whispered “Shpeter” — later. When I asked him what kind of God orders the murder of his child and what kind of hero accepts the command, or whether God “really” answer prayers, and if so, how come so many worthy petitions were not answered, zayde fell back on his standard response, “Shpeter” — later.”

But when we don’t answer these questions for our children and for ourselves, when we just say shpeter, we come to teach a difficult lesson - that Judaism, in all its beauty and wisdom maybe can’t provide the answers for daily life. Or maybe the truth is

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that we don’t answer because we can’t. We don’t know the answer and our lack of knowing only points up our lack of Jewish education. We feel that because we are knowledgeable in all sorts of subjects and because we are Jewish we should have this knowledge but we don’t. Lacking the knowledge makes us feel inadequate. Instead of saying, “I don’t know, let’s look for an answer together,” we do what we can to avoid the question altogether.

Consider other ways we respond to our kids and the implications of those an-swers. One is to respond with an invisible instant omniscience and quick piety. It occurs during the earliest years. Why is the sky blue? God. Why are babies born? God. Why did grandpa die? Why was there an earthquake? God. There was a Sunday school teacher who used God to explain almost any question. Once she asked the children “What is a small, brown furry animal who hides acorns during the winter months?” An eager child raises his hand and says, “I know the answer is God but it sure sounds like a squirrel.” The child has caught on. It is bad theology that uses God as a short-cut and it cuts off real questions.

Or we answer in a way that is honest but not necessarily truthful. Consider a fic-tional girl. Let’s call her Lisa. When Lisa prayed for a doll for Chanukah and didn't re-ceive it, she asked her teacher if God hears prayers and if God answers them. The teacher dutifully said, “God, indeed hears and answers prayers.” “But,” says Lisa, “God didn't answer my prayers.” “Yes He did” said the teacher, “He said, 'no'.” That terse theology will shut up Lisa. Not only does it perpetuate a false rabbinic theology, it will harm Lisa the rest of her spiritual life. Years later, when Lisa’s mother lies dying in the hospital, she will pray for her recovery, or maybe she won’t pray at all, because either she had a lousy childhood experience with prayer or no one showed her that prayer could be more than just reading words form a book. Her mother will die. Did God say, “no”? And if so, was it because of something she had done or something that her mother had done? The early answers in the formative years form building blocks out of which Lisa’s religious credulity is shaped. There is a short line that leads to the answer about praying for a doll for Chanukah and the trauma of the Holocaust. The answers we give early have an after-life of their own. Flippant answers can create the ominous silence of disbelief.

How would I have answered Lisa? I would have first told her it’s a great question and then would have said, “I don’t know, let’s look for some different answers together, try a few on and see what you like best. In searching I might remind her that God is not a cosmic butler, there to attend to our every whim and desire. I might explore with her the Hebrew word for prayer, l’hitpalel, which means, to judge yourself, to hold up a mirror, to ask the same question God asked Adam in the Garden, “ayekah? Where are you?” How are you doing? Are you being honest with yourself? I might show her that the same word l’hitpalel also contains the root pheleh meaning wonders; that another purpose of prayer is to make us more aware of our surroundings so that we might recognize the wonders of God’s creation and come to see our role in tending to God’s garden. I might expose her to the limits that the Rabbis of the Talmud put on acceptable prayer by saying that, for example, a pregnant woman cannot pray that her child be male or female, that to do so is to utter a tefillah shav -- a vain and blasphemous petition and that praying and wishing are two very different things.

Depending on Lisa’s age, we might talk about the rabbinic reality principle that reminds us how nature is morally neutral. I might show her that remarkable Talmudic

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discussion that asks: Suppose a man steals a measure of wheat and sows it in his own field. “It would be right that the wheat not grow. After all, it is stolen seed. But the rabbis conclude “Olam k'minhago noheg -- nature pursues its own course. Suppose a man has intercourse with his neighbor's wife? It would be right that she should not conceive. But Olam k'minhago noheg, nature pursues its own course (Avodah Zarah 54b). This intro-duces a theology that our young should learn now, not “later.” If we don’t answer our children, even with “I don’t know let’s look together,” they will stop asking and say reli-gion has no purpose or will go looking to other faiths for the answers.

Recently, I’ve seen some excellent research on what helps students learn. In a new book called “Why Don’t Students Like School?”, cognitive scientist Daniel Willing-ham, emphasizes that to improve learning, it's much more important for the teachers to know how to pose the right questions than for students to know all the answers. He ex-plains:

“I sometimes feel that we, as teachers, are so focused on getting to the answer, we spend insufficient time making sure that students understand the question and appreciate its significance.” (Willingham, 75)

If all we do is fill our kids with information instead of asking them good ques-tions, questions that force them to wrestle with ideas and that model for them that the question is often more important than the answer.

If we can change the focus in religious education from "what we need to teach" to "what our students ask," our young people may find the resources they want and need to strengthen their moral sense, and to own it more deeply.

When I think about world Judaism, I harbor many concerns: the future and safety of Israel, the events occurring in Egypt and Turkey, the UN vote on the Palestinians, the important need for negotiation and continued peace talks, and a fear of a nuclear Iran. But I am also fearful for the future of Judaism in America. According to a recent study, Jews are the most broadly popular religious group in America today (American Grace) yet we are shrinking. We have an average of 1.86 kids as opposed to the national average of 2.2. Intermarriage is an opportunity but the reality is that only 1/3 of intermarried couples raise their children as Jews. Studies show that ethnic cohesiveness is decreasing in this country while we become more concerned with individualism and respect for the sover-eign self. If all you’ve lived is a Judaism that revolves around food, as you grow up, you may realize it’s not that filling. If we don’t create space within our communities and within our tradition to wrestle with the most significant questions of our lives and allow ourselves to see that Judaism CAN provide answers to the questions of daily life, then we risk the threat of Jews melding completely into American society. It is high time to show those Jews who feel unsure about their Jewishness and inadequate in their Jewish knowl-edge a path back to the table. We need to give them the tools, the resources and most im-portantly the courage to ask the questions.

Nine years ago, I gave a sermon entitled, “Ending Hebrew School As We Know It.” I imagined a synagogue that was like a bee hive, humming with activity where peo-ple knew and cared for one another, where all of us were both learners and teachers. I reminded all of us that the current model most synagogues use was created by Rebecca Gratz in 1838!

We created J-Life, a program that brought parents into the synagogue on Shabbat mornings to learn alongside their children and asked them to be teachers as well as stu-

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dents. J-life is succeeding by giving many of you a taste of Jewish learning. It is creating greater connections between adults in this congregation and bringing forward new con-gregational leaders who otherwise might have gone unnoticed. J-Life is modeling to your children that Judaism is not a pediatric pursuit. Some of you have been inspired to ele-vate your own Jewish knowledge. It is even allowing for some intergenerational learn-ing. Yet I’m not sure if it is going far enough. Is J-Life really engaging you as an adult learner? Is it influencing how you behave, the decisions you make? Is it answering the questions and challenges of daily life that confront you on an ongoing basis, the questions fictional Lisa had as a child that still go unanswered as an adult? For J-Life to be trans-formational it needs to start doing all this.

Allow me then to share a little of what we are doing to raise up the questions. You heard our president Alan Shepard mention a Chavurah program for 5th and 6th graders. What makes this program different from a traditional Hebrew school model is that there is no set curriculum and no permanent classroom. They will meet where real learning takes place: in the supermarket, at a yoga studio, at food pantries, in people’s kitchens. Their learning will be based on the questions of the learners, not on what we think or feel they should know.

To reach the younger questioners in our congregation (and their families), we partnered with PJ Library. Thanks to some angels in this congregation, families with children ages 3-8, will each month be sent a different Jewish book, along with a discus-sion guide so that parents can be teachers. We will coordinate communal activities to create a common language and to hopefully, elicit more questions. All in the name of in-creasing Jewish engagement at a level that is honest and meaningful.

To reach those in their 20s and 30s, we have joined with a consortium of New York area congregations in an exciting collaborative project called Next Dor NYC. This interdenominational initiative created by the Union for Reform Judaism is intended to bring young Jews together to connect with one another and to build relationships and community. It is a vibrant participant-driven Jewish address for those seeking meaning, spirituality and Jewish community in a Reform context. Next Dor NYC's offerings have ranged from Shabbat dinners, to fun and spirited services, to community service opportu-nities and to larger social events related to Jewish holidays. Next Dor NYC is open to Jews in their 20s and 30s, and non-Jewish friends and significant others are warmly en-couraged to participate as well.

Now you might be wondering, “why do the kids get to have all the fun? I have questions. I’d love the opportunity to sit and struggle and seek the answers to the ques-tions of daily life. How can Jewish teachings help me navigate the ethical challenges of the workplace, the feelings of envy as I drive through town and look in neighbors drive-ways, the bombardment of messages of what my body should look like, how my clothes should fit, what I should buy? How can Jewish teachings help me to raise self-reliant children or resilient teenagers? How can Jewish teachings help me deal with aging par-ents? How can Jewish teachings inform the decisions I need to make as I approach the autumn and winter of my life?” We all have questions that Jewish teachings can come to answer. Not everyone has the motivation or the luxury of time to sign up for a multi-session class. What about one night or one breakfast or one lunch hour? When you go to Starbucks, sometimes you don’t need the Grande mocha soy latte. Sometimes a single shot of espresso will do the trick. We are launching something called “Single Shot Ju-

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daism.” Here’s how it works. Get 10 people together. Call me or Cantor Cooperman or Rabbinic Intern Leora Frankel. We will find a time to get together for questions and an-swers - not something we want to teach but stuff you want to talk about. I can guarantee good stories, powerful moments of connection, maybe even some laughter and tears. All I’m asking for is a single shot. This is something we could never do if we weren’t mov-ing towards engaging a second rabbi for this congregation.

I believe that Jewish learning starts with questions, not answers. The Jewish philosopher Franz Rosensweig understood this inside out thinking. Almost a hundred years ago, on the opening of the Lehrhaus in Berlin, he said: “A new ‘learning’ is about to be born--rather, it has been born. It is a learning in reverse order. A learning that no longer starts from the Torah and leads into life, but the other way round: from life, from a world that knows nothing of the Law, or pretends to know nothing, back to the Torah. That is the sign of the time...From the periphery back to the center; from the outside, in.”

This is what we are beginning to do here. Start from life. Start from a world that knows nothing of the Torah - or pretends to know nothing and moves back to the Torah. Start with the questions. Develop an outside-in Judaism.

If we want to talk about Judaism starting from life, let’s talk about that one thing that is central to life. Food. Growing up, organic food meant that your tomatoes were spotted, CSA stood for Canadaian Standards Association and coffee was instant and came in a jar. Now organic food is beautiful, CSA stands for Community Supported Agriculture and we want our coffee to be fair trade. Books by Michael Pollan and Jonathan Safran Foer address the treatment of animals and how we should eat. Other books like Postville or Kosher Nation emphasize the need for an eco kashrut that de-mands a higher ethical and environmental awareness of what we eat. The way we eat to-day raises questions that we never asked a generation ago, questions to which Jewish teachings can supply some answers.

Let me ask you, have you ever passed a bread field? Of course not. To make bread we need soil, sun, rain, seeds, the intellect to grow wheat and then to mill it. Fossil fuels to power the trains and trucks for shipping, the business interactions among farmer, miller, grocer, and so on. The journey from farm to table involves many moving parts, all needing to connect one with the others.

Yet the motzi, that simple prayer said before any meal, praises God “who brings forth bread from the Earth.” Why? God doesn’t make bread appear straight from the earth. There are no bread orchards. I think the motzi reminds us to be both thankful for our food and aware of the connectivity of all things, of the effort it takes to go from farm to table, and of the responsibility we have to ensure that the land and its workers are treated well. You see, saying motzi is not just about the food before us. It’s much larger than that. It’s about our connection to the whole system. And saying Motzi each time is a simple act to make Judaism a quotidian habit in our busy lives.

Imagine, if you said motzi - baruch atah adonai, eloheinu melech ha’olam, ha motzi lechem min ha’aretz, even muttered it under your breath 3 times a day, it would take approximately 7 seconds each time. If you are fortunate enough to each three meals a day, you can express your Judaism in 21 second a day. That’s it. That’s not asking for much.

Can you do this? Can you commit to saying motzi three times a day? I don’t care what you are eating. For all you gluten free folks like me out there, I don’t care if you’re

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having bread or not. Just say Motzi. You see, saying this simple prayer might cause us to ask more questions of our tradition that can only lead to greater discoveries. Saying this prayer three times a day will make us more connected with the earth, with humanity, with the responsibilities we have as God’s covenental partners.

So there it is, a little bit of Judaism I promise will make your life more peaceful and more meaningful. You don’t have to buy anything. You don’t have to go anywhere, and you don’t have to learn anything very complicated.

I believe so strongly that this simple act will lead to a more engaged Judaism, that when you leave today you will receive a gift. Community Synagogue has partnered with congregants Jeff and Jennifer Kohn, owners of The Kneaded Bread Bakery in Port Chester, to give you all a little card. On one side are the words of the motzi. On the other side is a statement entitling you to one free roll from the Kneaded Bread, every time you visit. You don’t have to buy anything else. The point is not the bread, it’s about giv-ing each of us the tools, resources, and opportunity to say this prayer whenever you eat.

Today we celebrate the birth day of the universe. On that first day, within mo-ments after they were formed, the first humans ate of the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil; fruit they had been prohibited from eating. Embarrassed and ashamed, they hid among the trees. God called to them with the first question in the Torah. A sin-gle word that asked much more than physical location. Ayekah? Where are you? It is a question that is eternal in time. And the affirmative answer to Ayekah should always be the same, it is the answer that the shofar calls us to utter. Hineini, here I am. There are some who are afraid of the question or of cultivating the question. But as the Yiddish ex-pression states, “Fum a kashe ken men nisht shtarbem.” -- “From a question no one dies.” But this is only half right. It’s when you ask a question that you really begin to live.

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