by Rabbi Corinne Copnick
It was on a middle-sized Cruise Ship that I realized how much I had absorbed from my six years of rabbinic education. Like the medical doctor of an earlier time who made house calls with a medical bag in tow, I had taken a small suitcase of books with me, as well as the short sermons and other material I had pre-prepared in file folders before boarding the ship in Vancouver, Canada for the High Holy Days. We were headed for the South Pacific. I knew that I would have very limited access to the Internet for supplementary material, so I had taken the precaution of bringing a dozen copies of specific services and — since plants or fruit could not be brought onto the ship — of preparing a bubble-wrapped lulav with artificial leaves representing the palm, myrtle, and willow for Succoth services. These were my materials. The rest was in my head and my heart. In addition, as Guest Staff Rabbi on the Cruise Ship, I would have to adapt to the different rooms and schedules assigned for religious services. They would be empty rooms until I used my then newly-minted rabbinic capabilities to make them into Makoms, into sacred spaces, and the diverse people who would come to fill them into a temporary community.
Well into the cruise, a woman with slightly greying hair, Bernadine, hugged me to her joyfully in the corridor outside the room where I had just conducted an Erev Shabbat prayer service. Our ship was a mere dot on the vast Pacific ocean at the time, voyaging between Vancouver, Canada and Sydney, Australia. On the way we had already visited some of the many groups of Pacific islands: Hawaii (Honolulu), American Samoa (a U.S. territory where the indigenous people are intent on preserving their culture, yet there are many churches of various denominations, with the Mormon Church predominating); Fiji (only 133 of 300 plus islands are inhabited); Vana’atu (Mystery Island, an uninhabited island, where some episodes of “The Survivor” were filmed); and New Caledonia (formerly a French colony, where American troops were stationed during WW II). But at that moment of our cruise hug, all we could see through the ship’s many large windows were sky and sea melting into one another. A time and place to marvel at the works of the Divine, indeed.
“I have the courage now,” Bernardine cried, happy tears escaping down her cheeks. “I thought I was too old, but you inspired me.” She had been working with seniors for years and had long yearned for but hesitated to enter a degree program in gerontology. “I’m going to take the plunge,” she confided. With his arm around her shoulders, her husband nodded his own encouragement. They were both devout Catholics. We had first met when I was invited to “preach” at one of the Catholic masses held daily on the ship. On another occasion, I was asked to read a passage from the Old Testament. In return, the priest (a retiree) attended most of our Jewish services — where I honored him in a similar fashion.
In a meaningful interfaith service at the Arizona Memorial in Oahu, all the on-board clergy (the priest, the Protestant minister, and myself as rabbi) participated jointly in memorializing the men who died at sea at Pearl Harbor — the infamous attack that caused the U.S. to declare war on Japan. After that deeply felt occasion, we three clergy enjoyed having several lunches together. We discussed religious similarities and differences between our respective faiths. Their congregational concerns were very much like those we face in Jewish life today: declining membership and attendance; making religion relevant to a new generation; intensified focus on educating youth; attending to the changing needs of a growing elderly population more likely now to stay in their homes than opt for costly assisted-living residences; interference in (or fear of) speaking from the pulpit about public issues that needed to be addressed; and, yes, we talked honestly about Israel.
So did a number of people (both Jews and non-Jews) who would approach me from time to time on the ship to ask challenging questions, things they were too reticent to ask in more formal settings. Some were evangelical Christians who wanted me to know that they were definitely “pro-Israel.” One person asked me if sacrifices still figure in Judaism today, and if the blood libel had any truth to it. Another man quoted chapter and verse from the Book of Daniel and wanted to know why, in the light of these prophecies, Jews still would not accept Jesus as their Messiah. Fortunately, my pluralistic rabbinic training at AJRCA had prepared me to field questions such as these. I always had to be “on” as a rabbi.
My tour of duty also included Sh’mini Atzeret (it was fun to pray for rain with water, water all around us!) and a joyful Simchat Torah. Our little Jewish “community” all took turns reading from the Plaut Torah (in book form since we didn’t have a Torah scroll) in English. Other than an Israeli couple (and an American who lived half the year in Eilat) who made up my regular minyan of ten or 12 people—a good turnout considering the small proportion of Jews on the ship — none of my “congregants” could read Hebrew.
It was satisfying to shape such disparate people — from Canada, Australia, England, America, Mexico, and Israel — into a little community that gleefully took the two loaves of challah and two bottles of ritual wine provided for us for the festivals and Sabbath eves into the dining room for Friday night dinner together. They even approached several “Jews who don’t go” on the ship and encouraged them to join our Friday nights.
One couple who live in Mexico asked if I would be willing to travel there to lead services in their small, artistic community’s synagogue. Their lay rabbi had left for a bigger synagogue in another town. “We can’t pay you,” she said, “but you’d have a nice vacation and a place to stay. We could probably pay your airfare.” A very nice offer, but unfortunately, I still have to pay back my student loans.
However, my experiences as Guest Staff Rabbi (this was only my second cruise; I’ve since had five more) can’t be measured in dollars and cents. Being a Cruise Rabbi demands adjustment to the personalities and prayer expectations of people who may be from conservative, reform, non-practicing orthodox, and even alternative backgrounds. In my conversations with some Israelis on the ship, they defined themselves as secular Jews, yet they consider the orthodox way the only “right” way to be Jews.
That’s why Arik — who “goes to shul only once a year and that’s enough!” — couldn’t bring himself to accept an artificial lulav, electric candles (because we were not allowed to light real ones on the ship), and a lemon from the ship’s kitchen instead of an etrog (the fourth species, a member of the citrus family) for Succoth, the Jewish harvest celebration in the autumn. “A lemon is not an etrog,” he said excitedly. He is right. It’s not. But where do you get a fresh etrog in the middle of the South Pacific ocean on a 25-day cruise? At least we had dinner together in a temporary shelter (okay, not a branch-covered hut, but at least an Ark of sorts). On the first night of Succoth, we waved the artificial lulav in every direction (which way was east?), thanked God that we had survived to this season, and invited imaginary guests to join us. When we stepped outside on deck, looked at the stars, and inhaled the cresting waves, we were a community, joyful and hopeful for the future.
Later, when we explored Isle des Pins (Island of Pines), one of the New Caledonian islands, we climbed about 150 rough-hewn, slippery stone steps to reach a tiny church that was several hundred years old and still in use. Originally built by Catholic missionaries using indigenous artisans who put into play their imaginative woodcarving, it was perched high on a mountain top. At the rear of the church, overlooking the sea, stood a tall Catholic memorial carved in stone. At its top, a saintly stone figure held a cross aloft, Statue of Liberty style. The memorial was dedicated to the men of the island who had served France in two World Wars. And circling the memorial stone were native totems, tall ones to recognize those who had been high chiefs, as was the native custom. In between the tall totems were symmetrically interspersed, shorter totems to signify lower orders in the indigenous hierarchy. Here, in this beautiful, natural setting with abundant flowers, traditional Catholicism was mixed with native culture — a phenomenon we call “syncretism” today — to honor the men who had given their lives for freedom.
One might say, comparatively speaking, that this memorial was not exactly an oval-shaped, bumpy-skinned etrog in its adherence to strict religious belief, but in its combined purpose of respect paid and beauty intended to elevate and comfort, it was like a fresh lemon, golden yellow and round. It was both touching and reverent. As this blended memorial etched itself into the camera of my memory, it supported my belief as a young-old rabbi that the spirit of religion often trumps the letter of the law.
*This article by Rabbi Corinne Copnick was originally published in 2015 on the AJRCA website.
by Rabbi Corinne Copnick
New Caledonia, a French-speaking collectivity of our South Pacific stop-over islands on the way to Australia – about 750 miles away — definitely has a “je ne sais crois,” an indefinable special quality. The New Caledonian islands consist of Grande Terre, the Loyalty islands, the Chesterfield islands, the Belearchipelago, the Isle of Pines, and a few remote islets. (I loved Isle des Pins when we stopped there– oh, the nostalgic smell of pine trees for someone born in Canada!) These islands also attract birdwatchers from around the world.
This group of islands was very different from other South Pacific Islands I visited, however. For one thing, it’s noticeable that tropical flora does not have a monopoly on the landscape; trees and plants that are more familiar to the Northern Hemisphere mingle with more exotic varieties here. (I loved Isle des Pins when we stopped there – oh, the nostalgic smell of pine trees for someone born in Canada!) The temperature, too, seemed more moderate when we visited the capitol, Noumea on Grande Terre, an island that has a lot to recommend it.
The residents of Grande Terre pride themselves on being a little Paris of the South Pacific. Most people we encountered could speak English, but the preferred language of this island today is French. The shop windows are fashion savvy and show a high degree of sophistication in the expensive, quality products they display. There are excellent museums, especially the ones that review the World Wars, both I and II. Even the money is French (ah, but New Caledonian French), as we soon discovered when we tried to exchange U.S. dollars for New Caledonian francs (surprisingly, they were worth more than American dollars) at the island’s main bank.
You see, the island’s policy is not to accept any foreign money at all, not even U.S. dollars. Every visitor must change the money of their country of origin to New Caledonian dollars. And if you don’t spend it all, you can’t exchange what is left for your own currency. Since my daughter and I did not have much time to spend on the island, we calculated that exchanging $20.00 US would be ample. We thought that touring the much touted (deservedly) World War II museum would take a couple of hours. That, and a cup of coffee, would consume the time at our disposal before we had to return to the ship.
But we could not exchange $20.00 US. No way, no how. Not at the bank machine, not in the bank. The minimum amount exchangeable was $50.00 US. The museum’s admission price was the equivalent of $2.00 US, so for the two of us, that made $4.00 US. Certainly enough money would remain for a delectable shared French pastry at the corner café and possibly an espresso. Non, non, non. Not possible. It was $50.00 US or nothing.
Americans from the U.S. are not used to discovering that there are corners of the world where their money is scorned. But rejected our dollar bills were. That was the pleasantly-stated decree of the three beautiful, elegantly dressed beauties – coiffed, made up, bejeweled – as they sat on the stools that graced the long front-counter of the bank. The cashier proffered the same opinion from her caged window at the back of the bank; and, despite our pleas, the even more beautiful and fashionable manager finally summoned from her secluded office confirmed what her employees had said. Nothing less than $50.00 US could be exchanged into New Caledonian money. And no remnant of that money could be changed back.
Until …
Noting that the gorgeous manager’s English was tinged with a French accent – not any old French but quite obviously Parisian French, we began to converse with her in French. New Caledonia reminded us so much of France, we enthused, even of Paree. Oh, yes, we had visited Paris, and, mais oui, of course we spoke French because we were born in Montreal. A French city. So much in common. Suddenly, she was willing to make a one-time exception. The bank would exchange 20 American dollars for us. We exchanged smiles and little pleasantries along with the money. In well-tutored French all around.
New Caledonian money in hand, there was still time for us to enjoy the World War II museum. It is truly a wonderful museum. With considerable artistry and modern technology, it depicts, not only the course of this war as experienced in New Caledonia, but also how such a diverse community, made up of so many different nationalities and ethnic groups, especially the aboriginals, were knit together by war. The population of these islands is a mix of the original inhabitants (the Kanaks), people of European ancestry, Polynesians, Southeast Asians, and those few descended from the Pied-Norand Maghrebans. Periods of slavery (“blackbirding”) were also part of their history. The two hours my daughter and I spent at the museum were not enough to completely integrate all this information.
However, the museum exhibition did help us understand how for years and years, the island had been batted back and forth between so many foreign empires, and why it was so important for the islanders to maintain their independence from foreign influence. These deeply-entrenched feelings extend to their money. Their economy is strong (they have some of the largest deposits of nickel in the world), which give these islands prosperity and financial independence). New Caledonia will therefore conduct its affairs in NEW CALEDONIAN money.
After our museum visit, there was insufficient time for a French pastry or café-au-lait before returning to our ship. But we had gained a valuable understanding. The left-over New Caledonian dollars that remained in our wallets now had a special significance: New Caledonia was no longer a colony of any foreign power. Its non-exchangeable dollars stood for freedom – and unity.
by Rabbi Corinne Copnick
When I moved in 1985 to Toronto, Ontario from Montreal, Quebec, where I was born and lived most of my life, I was surprised to find that my beloved IBM Selectric typewriter would no longer suffice. Not if I wanted my copy to present a current image. So I was kindly informed by a colleague who wanted to help me “integrate” into the Torontonian professional milieu.
Not long before, I had toured the offices of a major Montreal newspaper with a writer’s group. There was still only one computer in the news office, which we regarded with great respect as we were given an informational talk on how the newspaper’s environment (still full of typewriters just like mine) would not only soon become replete with computers, but it would also become paperless. Shock and awe!
But in business-like Toronto offices, the computers were already there. Everywhere. It didn’t take long to become “hooked.” How had I lived for so many years without a computer? Clueless at first, I had taken reciprocal lessons from an Israeli computer genius who needed English lessons for his young (hyperactive) daughter. So we traded expertise.
At that time, I was learning on a WordPerfect 3.I program that my genius teacher installed in the second-hand computer I acquired from him, and I still appreciate the invaluable advice he gave me: “Don’t read a manual,” he said. “Never. Learn from the machine. Press all the keys, one by one, and it will teach you everything. Don’t be afraid. Nothing will happen. If you make a mistake, you can fix the code.” In those days, the visual miracle of Windows with its drop-down menus had not yet arrived on the personal market. Before Windows, you still had to press “Reveal Codes,” and lo and behold, a mathematical vision appeared on the computer screen. The code underlying the keys. So you learned to “fix” things by learning to read the code to a degree and deleting the mistakes you had made. (Who knew then that in the 21st century some people would be cyber-hacking into computer codes for nefarious reasons?)
Then around 1990, everything changed again. The Windows program was the new imperative along with that world-changing vehicle, The World Wide Web. Now I could put my writing business on the Web, and suddenly people all over the world could access it. The Internet. Accessible with a few keystrokes. Who needed an office any more?
Twenty-seven years had elapsed by the time I found myself, in 2017, Guest Staff Rabbi on a cruise headed for the South Pacific. I couldn’t imagine life without my computer and cell phone. Neither could my daughter who, putting her own business on hold, had accompanied me. Sadly, even though there were supposed to be “hot spots” on the ship, and even though my daughter had invested in an Internet package, it was almost impossible to “connect.” Even when occasionally we did, the expensive connection was so slow that we couldn’t finish a single email before it was “lost” once again. Other passengers had the same problem. No Internet. No cell phone. And you can’t go to an Apple store for help in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
We didn’t exactly have a funeral for our lost access, but we did have to adjust to life unwired, however temporary. It was a 47-day cruise.
And then we landed on one of the 80 islands of Vanuatu, 65 of which are uninhabited. These once volcanic islands are located in Oceania between Australia and Hawaii. In fact, they are about 1,000 miles east of Australia, and closest to New Caledonia, the Fiji islands, the Solomon Islands, and New Guinea. Over the years, the Vanuatu islands have been plagued by large earthquakes, danger of tsunamis, and repeated cyclones. But they are gorgeous, surrounded by turquoise waters, and fine sandy beaches. It’s small wonder that when the first people arrived there some 4,000 years ago, they stayed. Unfortunately, they were decimated by disease once the Europeans arrived. In 1606, the Portuguese explorer, Pedro Fernandez de Quiros sighted these islands, which he called Espiritu Santu. By the time Captain James Cook found them in 1774, he renamed them the New Hebrides. In the 1800s, traders arrived to exploit the island’s fragrant sandalwood. Then, for a long time, the New Hebrides were under British and French control. With the advent of World War II in the 1940s, the Americans arrived, and in the 1980s, the Republic of Vanuatu emerged as a parliamentary republic.
It was at the most southern of the islands of this Republic that our cruise ship docked. Popularly called Mystery Island, it is uninhabited, and its real name is Inyeug (which is close to the main island, Aneityum). Islanders refuse to live in Inyeug because they believe it is inhabited by ghosts. Even today. Although a few entrepreneurial islanders will come to sell trinkets to tourists by day, at night they have all vanished. The tourists have returned to their cruise ships. It’s eerily dark on Mystery Island.
Of course, our ship arrived there in daylight. When we disembarked, we were informed that we could walk around this entire island paradise in less than an hour – 45 minutes perhaps. So I set out with my daughter, and as we “oohed” and “aahed” our way around the flora of this beautiful, empty place, her phone pinged. A ping in the middle of an uninhabited island in the South Pacific? Did we hear right?
Amazed, my daughter picked up her cellphone. “Hello,” said the person calling her from California. “Good to hear your voice.” What??? There was reception on the island??? There must be a cell phone tower somewhere nearby. How could it be?
That’s when, halfway around the island, we noticed that a modest grass airstrip ran along one part of the beach to the other side. Planes could land here too! As my daughter continued her business conversation with the U.S., we learned that some of the islands of Vanuatu had been used for the remote locations of the popular television series called “The Survivor.”
Mystery Island was a mystery no more. Modern civilization had been here. It pinged.
By Rabbi Corinne Copnick
Although most of the residents of this upscale retirement home were Christian, a few Jewish residents had asked the Pastor if a Rabbi could give a sermon there. And that’s how I happened to be addressing about 50 or so Seniors at their Vespers service on a Sunday afternoon. “You can talk about the Pentateuch or the Psalms or the rest of the Old Testament,” the Pastor had advised me, “but please don’t talk about God.” I think he really meant that I should not talk about theological differences, but I agreed. “Okay, I won’t talk about God.” I didn’t share with the Pastor that in Israel today, there is a “movement” of Jews who don’t believe in God. They call themselves Secular Jews.
But that afternoon, at the elegant Senior Residence, I was addressing believing Christians. So, after a memorial prayer for the three Israeli teens and one Palestinian who died so violently, so needlessly, recently, and an expression of solidarity with their families, I taught this Christian group the simple words of the song, “Hine Ma Tov,” in Hebrew (the words are taken from the first verse of Psalm 133, a short prayer of gratitude, which reads “Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity!”), and then I preceded the discussion of the scriptural portion for the day with a few remarks.
“The scriptural portion of our service (Numbers 22:2-25:9) for today,” I said,
“comes from the Pentateuch, which is Greek for “Five,” and refers to the Five Books of Moses, which in Hebrew is called “the Torah,” which means “Instruction.” You probably know that the entire Old Testament was first written in Hebrew, and then it was translated into Greek, which was called The Septuagint, and then it was translated into Latin. And from the Latin, it was translated into English and, eventually, many other languages.
“That’s why it is useful to study Hebrew, because, after all those translations, the meaning of the words may not be exactly the same in English. Added to that, the original Hebrew words did not have any vowels. It was all consonants, like text messaging. The reader has to figure out the rest. So the meaning also depends on the vowels you give to the words. There are many Christian scholars studying Hebrew today – online at Hebrew University in Jerusalem and elsewhere — exactly for that reason: to check out what the words are really saying and read the Bible in its original language — and to understand that there are various meanings possible for many words.”
“So I’d like you to think of studying the Bible,” I said, “as if you were playing the piano. If you’ll notice, there are both black and white keys on the piano. We could play some nice music on the white keys alone, but we wouldn’t have the nuances that the black keys, the sharps and flats, would give the music. If we just played on the white keys, it would be like reading the Bible literally, in C Major all the time. So as a soon-to-be rabbi – the word “rabbi” means “my teacher” — my job is to add the interpretation, the sharps and flats.
“A rabbi’s sermon is called a “derash,” an interpretation,” I continued. “What is written down in the Pentateuch is called the ‘Written Torah.’ And the interpretation is called the ‘Oral Torah,’ much of which has been transmitted from generation to generation, although new commentary is continually added. So ‘[r]abbinic language contains numerous layers of meaning. The Talmud [a compilation of centuries of rabbinic commentary on the Torah] frequently attempts to uncover the hidden meaning of a word… thereby revealing new understandings of the … teaching.’ That is why we need both – the white keys and the black keys too – to fully understand the intent, the background, and the underlying story.
“Our scriptural portion, which this week is from Numbers 22:2-25:9, is the story of Balak (the warlike Moabite king who is fearful that the Jews will become too numerous and overrun his kingdom, and thus he wishes the Jews harm), and it’s also the story of Bilaam (the prophet whom the Moabite king hires to curse Israel), and the third character is Bilaam’s talking donkey, who turns out to have more sense than either Balak or Bilaam. The prophet, Bilaam, is supposed to be a visionary, but it turns out that his Donkey is the visionary. It’s the Donkey – and the Bible specifies that it’s a she-Donkey, presumably even more sensitive than a male donkey would be — whose acute animal senses enable her to see Angels along the road, warning that Bilam should not curse the Israelites. What’s wrong with human beings? the Donkey complains, in effect. “You ride on me all day, and then you beat me? Angels keep telling you to stop, three times – don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it — and you don’t hear, Bilaam!” Finally listening to the Donkey, Bilam promises that the only words he will speak are the ones that the Eternal One puts in his mouth. And when Bilaam glimpses the Israelites camping out in the desert, the words that do emerge from his mouth are those of admiration and blessing. “Ma Tovu.” “ How Good!….
These words flow out of Balaam’s mouth from the top of the mountain that overlooks where the Hebrews are encamped. It is the third time that King Balak has tried to get Balaam to curse the Israelites, and yet, miraculously, out of Balaam’s mouth comes a blessing. What was supposed to be a curse is turned into a blessing. The Bible story teaches us that, with God’s help, human beings do have the power to transform a curse into a blessing. And that words of peace are better than acts of war.
“And there is more. Remarkably, generations later, the biblical Ruth, a Moabite woman who became a Jew-by-choice, was actually the great-granddaughter of King Balak – and, by her marriage to Boaz, she was also the great-grandmother of King David (from whom it is foretold that the Messiah will come). And that is how a curse became a blessing, and an enemy became part of the Jewish family.
“Today, Jews still sing the words of Balak’s emissary, Bilaam, as part of the liturgical morning blessings: Mah tovu ohalecha Ya’akov, mishk’notecha Yisrael, “How goodly are your tents, O Jacob, your dwellings, O Israel” (Numbers 24:5).
“This dramatic scene from Numbers 24:5, is traditionally coupled with one of the most quoted passages in the Bible, the few lines from the prophet Micah (6:8) that sum up what we are each commanded to do to be a blessing every day:
“He 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 modestly with your God;
Then will your name achieve wisdom.”