by Rabbi Corinne Copnick
Like the United States or Canada, Australia spans a vast territory. When my four children were growing up in the 1970s, our family took lengthy road trips all over North America. Over several years, we visited every single province in Canada – our goal was to reach the Easternmost tip in St. John, Newfoundland and, the next year, the Westernmost tip in Tofino, Vancouver Island (our hardy, beige and brown station wagon traversing log roads stretched over canyons, our luggage doing a balancing act atop the car). “Don’t look at the scenery,” we would call out to my husband, who was driving. “We’ll watch the scenery. Just keep your eye on the road!”
Then, over the next couple of years, we tackled the vast landscape of the United States. We were already familiar with much of the Eastern seaboard, all the way from Montreal, Quebec in Canada to the east coast of Florida, but now our goal was to visit 48 of the 50 states. Only after most of our family had moved to Los Angeles, California did I have the opportunity to visit Alaska and Hawaii (three times, so far) to make 50.
Not until many years later, when I served as Guest Staff Rabbi on a cruise ship, did I get to learn words like “Oceania” (Oceania is a vast, arbitrarily defined expanse of the world where the Pacific Ocean – rather than land borders – connects the nations) and “Australasia”(a region within Oceania that consists of Australia, New Zealand, New Guinea, and the neighboring islands of the South Pacific Ocean). Finally, there was Australia, so like North America in its grand assortment of gorgeous landscapes and diversity of people. So like Canada in many ways, with a history linked to Britain. I felt at home in Australia.
On arrival, though, I was taken aback by the graphic signs in the bathrooms at customs; the signs instructed visitors to sit down on the toilet seats with their feet on the floor, and NOT to place their feet on the toilet seats and squat. For some Oceanic or Australasian countries, even those with relatively modern plumbing, toilets are a hole in the floor.
I was surprised, too, by the people just ahead of me who tried to smuggle in food (there are stiff fines for doing so) like raw veal and even a whole, plastic-wrapped, cooked duck in their suitcases. They didn’t see anything wrong with it. “If I pay the fine, can I keep the duck?” one young man (a Chinese student) asked. He was bringing the duck to his relatives. No, he couldn’t, was the answer.
Maggots were already infesting the bottom of the suitcase belonging to the Asian lady who was bringing in veal as a present for her friend who had a restaurant in Sydney. “My friend will cook it for me,” the lady explained with a winning smile. But the customs officials confiscated the suitcase, maggots and all, anyway.
Visitors don’t have to worry about finding food in Australia. It is readily obtainable in all price ranges, fresh and delicious. But I must say that everywhere I went, it was the raisin bread and hot chocolate I first tasted in the rolling Blue Mountains that won my heart.
The Blue Mountains are a two-hour or so bus trip from Sydney. Our plans included a cable car over a spectacular canyon, a trip to a recommended animal park featuring kangaroos, wallabies (smaller than kangaroos), monkeys, sloths, and, of course, koala bears. Then we were to take a small boat trip back to Sydney Harbor.
Amid all this scenic grandeur, it was the charming town of Laurel in the heart of the Blue Mountains that captured my heart. The atmosphere is traditional in a way that evokes the English cottage country in earlier times, almost Victorian in feeling. In that little town was a shop that sold soaps and perfumes and a whole repertoire of romantic items, things that had pretty little flowers all over them. I purchased a sturdy shower cap that looked like a Victorian night cap; it had delicate mauve and pink flowers on it too.
Conveniently situated next to this shop was a small café. It was not yet lunchtime, but we had risen early, and we were hungry. I will never forget my first taste of Australian, perfectly toasted raisin bread. It was sliced like a Jewish mother would slice challah (there were two slices), an inch thick and lathered with butter. Accompanying it was the best hot chocolate I have ever had. Not cocoa. Not packaged hot chocolate from a processed powder. No, this was thick hot chocolate sauce topped off with absolutely delicious, warmed, whole milk from Blue Mountain, grass-fed, Australian cows. Then this gorgeous concoction was well mixed, not in a blender but by hand, to perfection, and, in something approaching ecstasy, I finished it to the last drop. If ever the perfect red heifer the ancient Jews sought for Temple rites is found, it will be in Australia.
I was hooked. I kept ordering raisin bread and butter and hot chocolate all over Australia, and not once was I disappointed. Better yet, we did so much walking that I didn’t gain weight!
by Rabbi Corinne Copnick
It’s an old Jewish joke that when there are two Jews, three synagogues are needed. They each have their own ideas about how the prayers should be conducted. Prior to visiting the Great Synagogue in Sydney, Australia, I left a message identifying myself as an ordained rabbi from Los Angeles who was interested in the synagogue’s history. I don’t know which of the two or more Jews got my message, but no one seemed to be aware of it when I arrived. However, at least there was a synagogue to receive me, a grand one. Often referred to as “The Jewish Cathedral,” it was established in 1878.*
But a hundred years earlier in 1788, when the first few Jewish convicts were transported to New South Wales on the First Fleet to serve out their harsh sentences, there were no synagogues yet, not even one. As a matter of fact, when the first Jewish convict died that same year, there were no Jewish burial rites or sites.
Although only ten Jews are required to make a minyan (while each person can pray individually, developing communal values is considered essential in Jewish life, and the Torah cannot be read aloud without a minyan). The idea is to gather enough participants to make a kehilla, a little community. Eventually — some three decades later – there were enough Jewish convicts –about 30 of them — to gather together for regular worship. Towards the end of the 1820s, a few free settlers joined the congregation as well, led by a young man recommended by the Chief Rabbi in London.
So now there was one synagogue for 30 plus Jews. Oy veh! That wouldn’t do. They argued and argued about different ways of conducting services in the synagogue. And other things. It goes without saying that a rival congregation was immediately started, led by a young man who didn’t have a recommendation from London. Who cared? Now they had two synagogues. The number of free Jewish settlers grew to 25. After a lot of negotiation, and helped by a rabbi who who had traveled to Australia, the congregation united. They were one.
It turned out that some of the free Jewish settlers had influential ties (to the Montefiore family, for example), and the Australian government finally recognized the Jewish congregation in 1831. The little congregation celebrated their first High Holy Days together a few months later on George Street in a room above the store of one of the congregants. There was a bona fide Jewish congregation in New South Wales, Australia.
From this small beginning, under the leadership of their first actual rabbi, Rev. Michael Rose, the congregation grew to 300 people and soon had to take larger facilities on Bridge Street and then, only a decade later, on York Street, in a 500-seat building designed by James Hume. By this time, non-Jews were also taking interest in the synagogue and contributing to the project. Amazing.
What had boosted the Jewish population and made this phenomenal growth possible? Follow the money, they say. The Gold Rush of the 1850s attracted Jewish settlers! Unfortunately, their different circumstances led to conflict between the old and new settlers so that – you guessed it! — a rival synagogue was again established.
Finally, almost a century after the first Jewish convict died in Australia without Jewish burial rites, the rival synagogues united, and the Great Synagogue was born on Elizabeth Street, where it still stands. The religious services, complemented by fine liturgical talent, were – and still are – traditional in nature. It was 1878.
In the formal and elegant fashion of the time, the Great Synagogue was built to generate awe at its stately magnificence, both outside and inside. There are stained glass windows and gold stars on the ceiling (added in later years) to intensify the light. It’s gorgeous.. An education center, auditorium, memorial center, and library were added over the years. The Great Synagogue still boasts many activities, but the elderly volunteers told us that the whole congregation is aging and, by attrition, dwindling.
As my visit drew to a close, I noticed that there were mincha (afternoon) services scheduled for 1:30 PM. “I’d love to join in prayer at the mincha service,” I said to the knowledgeable woman who gave us an informational talk. “Would that be possible?” I asked.
“Well, it’s usually just the men,” she answered hesitantly, and then added, “I suppose we could put up a screen for you.”
“Thank you,” I replied, “but since my time in Sydney is short, I think it would be better spent at the Jewish Museum than behind a screen.”
“Oh, that’s great,” she said in relief. “There’s a bus that will take you to the Museum that stops right in front of our door.”
So with an exchange of smiles and good wishes, my daughter and I left for the Jewish Museum of Sydney, where I promptly bought a purple kippah with an aboriginal design.
With the dispersion of young families to the more affordable suburbs around Sydney, there are a number of thriving, suburban synagogues today – Reform, Conservative, and Modern Orthodox — and most have egalitarian seating. Female rabbis who visit Sydney are not obliged to sit behind a mehitza (screen or wall) in order to pray there, if they do not choose to do so.
So you see, it’s true. When you have two Jews, you need three synagogues.
*For those who are interested in more historical detail about the Great Synagogue’s history, a book by the Rabbi Emeritus, Rabbi Dr. Raymond Apple, is available: The Great Synagogue: A History of Sydney’s Big Shule, UNSW PRESS, 2008.
PINCHAS THE ZEALOT: A MORAL PROBLEM
(Numbers 25:10-30:1)
by Rabbi Corinne Copnick
Whether it applies to social and political relations or to religion, our global society currently needs to take a sharp direction away from zealotry. The horrors that occur when gullible people – whether individuals or angry crowds – are manipulated by powerful zealots for their own ends sadly fill our television and internet screens these days. It’s not new. It has happened over and over again in history, going right back to biblical times and even before. Often God – or the zealot’s misguided understanding of a deity’s transfer of power – is used as an excuse.
In the book of Numbers in the Holy Bible, Pinchas (a grandson of Aaron the priest) is rewarded for using his spear – on his own authority — to pierce through a Jewish man and his Moabite paramour (Zimri and Cozbi, daughter of Zur) in the privacy of the Jewish offender’s tent. True, the tent is in the middle of the Jewish camp, so it seems like an intentional provocation by the couple. Also, in the first few verses (1-9) of Numbers 25, which precede where the Pinchas portion actually starts in verse 10, we get the bigger picture of the Moabite women whoring with the Israelite men and subsequently enticing them to make sacrifices to their pagan god, Baal-peor.
Remember that, for the Israelites in ancient times, idolatry was one of the three capital crimes; the other two were murder and adultery. Remember also that when Pinchas kills both participants in the midst of their infamous sex act in the Jewish camp’s tent, he is taking the law into his own hands. It is murder. The coupling is a moral problem in more ways than one.
And yet the biblical account excuses Pinchas’ passionate act: God’s wrath is thus deflected from the Israelites’ licentious behavior with the enticing women, and therefore, God does not completely wipe them out with a plague (24,000 have already been killed). In God’s eyes, according to the Bible, the impassioned, zealous act of Pinchas has expiated the sin of the Israelites. That’s why he is rewarded with the covenant of peace (which suggests that Pinchas will have to keep the peace too! Nor do Cozbi’s relatives go after Pinchas in revenge.) And Pinchas and his descendants will remain priests for all time.
In my view, God made a mistake by glorifying Pinchas’ zealotry. Earlier in the Bible, Abraham argues with God when he thinks God’s decision is wrong; Moses also argues with God; and in each case God changes his actions. One may reflect that even God is still learning about human beings and their strange behavior in early biblical times. Several thousands years later, all kinds of experts in human behavior are still trying to do that.
The reason that I think excusing Pinchas from murder charges because of his noble intent is mistaken is this: Throughout the following centuries right up to today, impassioned people who believed they were the good guys, and that their cause was right, have massacred those who prayed to a different god – or even thought differently. I don’t think Pinchas deserved to keep his priestly stature after he committed an impulsive act of murder. Yet, in view of his passion for God, Pinchas is given a “pact of friendship (v.12).”
“What exactly is this pact of friendship that the Holy One gave to Phineas [his Egyptian name]?”asks the medieval rabbinic authority, Abarbanel. The commentators of the Middle Ages note, however, that in the telling of Pinchas’ story, the Hebrew letter vav (representing “and”) that connects peace and friendship is written with a break in the middle (Michael Carasik, “Numbers,” The Commentators Bible: The Rubin JPS Miqra’ot Gedolot, NY: JPS, 193.) It is worthy of note that in Jewish biblical law, a priest who has killed someone was not permitted to give the priestly benediction. The Torah is subtle in its disapproval.
The whole story would make some great episodes on “Law and Order.”
Interestingly, there is some controversy among the medieval rabbis as to whether the biblical story applies to the Midianites or the Moabites. While the Jewish Publication Society translation refers to the Moabite women, medieval commentators tend to refer to the same women as Midianites. So, which pagan tribe is it? If indeed the immoral women were Moabites, we should remember Ruth, who (later in the Bible) was so loyal and kind to Naomi, who put aside her own beliefs, who was the ancestress of King David – Ruth also came from Moab. She is considered Judaism’s first convert.
So perhaps another ending was possible for the murdered couple fornicating in the tent.
* * * *
Fortunately, as I see it, this Torah portion is redeemed by the inspiring story of the daughters of Zelophehad, from the tribe of Manassah, which also appears in this portion. Their names, which should be honored, are Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah. They made their argument forthrightly, not to God, but to Moses, their acknowledged leader. They pointed out that their recently deceased and honorable father was not one of the rebellious Korach’s faction. Unfortunately, though, their father died without sons. According to biblical custom at that time, his five daughters could not inherit his property.
Speaking jointly, respectfully, and logically to Moses – this episode shortly follows the Korach rebellion in the chronology of the Bible – the five daughters made an excellent case for their father’s property being transferred to them even though they were women. They explained that otherwise the continuance of their father’s name would be lost to his clan, who would absorb the property. Blotting out someone’s name was a serious turn of events in biblical times.
Moses was impressed both by their argument and their intelligent demeanor. Long before the Women of the Wall clamoring for equality in modern Israel, the five daughters of Zelophehad were effective feminists – and in turn, Moses brought the case to God for judgment.
As the Bible portrays it, God also thought the case of the five daughters was just. It was right that they should get the hereditary holding among their father’s kinsmen. “Transfer their father’s share to them,” God is quoted as ruling in the Bible (Numbers 27:6-11). “Further, speak to the Israelite people as follows: ‘If a man dies without leaving a son, you shall transfer his property to his daughter.’ ” And God’s word became the law of the land. In my view, God made a much better decision in this instance than in the case of Pinchas. Maybe that’s why both cases are in the same parsha. If you make a mistake, it’s always possible to redeem yourself.
by Rabbi Corinne Copnick
Long ago, when I was a star-struck teenager in Montreal, I would attend matinees on Wednesday afternoons. On these theatrical expeditions, I was accompanied by my mother who considered it “cultural enrichment” (her notes to my teachers on Thursday mornings always attributed my absences to a cold). Usually we would go to “His Majesty’s Theatre” (when Queen Elizabeth ascended to the throne, it became “Her Majesty’s Theatre”). Since we were frequent attendees, and my mother’s budget was small, we sat in the top balcony (many aspiring actors were there too). In order to see the players’ features clearly, what were then called “opera glasses” (although these plays weren’t opera, they were often “musicals”) were a boon.
So one of my first purchases, once I became a teenage radio actress actually earning a paycheck, was a pair of elegant opera glasses. Not any old opera glasses; these were black mother-of-pearl, delicately shaped and gold rimmed. They had their own silk cord so the opera glasses could rest around my neck, as well as a silk pouch to house them. They were mine for many years until a house robbery made them the illicit property of someone else. I missed them. They were a happy memory of my youth.
Not until I glimpsed the architectural marvel of the Opera House in Sydney, Australia, not until we toured these magically-conceived premises, did I re-experience the excitement of the curtain going up at His/Her Majesty’s Theatre. The dramatic sections of the Opera House,
like the winged shells of a concrete sea creature, rise from the sea, occupying all of Bennelong Point at Sydney Harbor. In 2007, the Operal House was declared a World Heritage Site.
The Sydney Opera House, which finally opened in 1973 after a lengthy gestation period beginning with an architectural competition in 1957, was designed by Danish architect Jorn Utzon. As a distinctive, multi-purpose, performing arts venue, it was declared a World Heritage Site in 2007. I consider it to be one of the wonders of the world.
And there, in the lobby, I found the replacement for my long-lost opera glasses. No matter that they were amber-colored, not pearl. They were delicately-shaped; they had a gold rim and cord. I would cherish them as a forever remembrance of Australia.
Although I purchase better seating when I go to the theatre today and don’t really need opera glasses, they symbolize a part of who I am. They recall a time when I was young and in love with the theatre, when life held great artistic momentum; they were an inspirational part of my route to eventually becoming a rabbi. They also symbolize the beauty, elegance, and sophistication of Sydney itself. A city to cherish and revisit, marked by engaging architecture; arched, fashionable shopping malls; quality food and merchandise. It was also full of tourists, and costs for food and shelter were staggeringly high. Many people who “live in Sydney” today actually live in the suburbs, which we couldn’t get to explore in the time we had at our disposal. We were told that the suburbs are beautiful too. And also expensive. If you visit Sydney, it will cost you, especially the hotels.
My new opera glasses were certainly a cut above the room we, my daughter and I, had reserved for our stay there. When we were choosing our hotel from Los Angeles, with the help of a reputable travel agent, we asked to keep our costs “reasonable”; he suggested that we might enjoy the vibrancy of the Chinese section of Sydney. “The hotel is modest,” he said, “but it’s an exciting part of town. Lots of great restaurants. Interesting art. Diversity.” All of that proved to be true, but he had never been there. What he didn’t know was that the “basic” hotel he booked for us stood right next to one that boasted a large sign: “Rooms by the hour.” And there were others quite similar. How basic can you get?
Actually, it proved to be great fun to walk around savoring the sights and sounds of “Chinatown.” In a sense, it was familiar territory. In Canada, Montreal, Toronto, and Vancouver each have a Chinatown. Many U.S. big cities have them: San Francisco, Los Angeles. And so on. Although most people of Chinese background don’t live there anymore, the tourist attractions, the food, the businesses remain. Actually, our hotel proved to be a moderately lengthy but pleasant walk to the harbor, where our activities for the day – and the Opera House – were located. It’s easy to spend an entire day at the harbor. If you have the physical energy, as many athletic visitors do, you can climb the walking path of the bridge high enough to gain an amazing view. Half-way up, there is a small museum. My daughter climbed. I watched.
Now that we had our bearings in Sydney (we gauged distance from the harbor), I checked out the location of the historical Old Synagogue and the times when we could visit. Along with the Jewish Museum, a much newer edifice, that would be my destination for the next day. Even if you don’t visit a religious establishment, a trip to Australia brings you close to God.
by Rabbi Corinne Copnick
Who would have thought that politically correct terminology would extend to the little penguins of Phillip Island, Victoria province, just a couple of hours driving time from the city of Melbourne? In Australia, where my daughter and I were spending a few precious tourist days, these little penguins were formerly called “fairy penguins” because of their small size. The smallest species of penguin (Eudyptula minor), about 13 inches in height and 17 inches in length, they can be found on the coastlines of Southern Australia and New Zealand. Phillip Island is said to be home to about 33,000 breeding adults, its one remaining penguin colony.
To me, a “fairy” conjures up the delicate creatures with gossamer wings that populated my story books when I was a child. Or the cartoon fairies in Walt Disney movies. But, owing to sensitivity to the LGBTQ movement, in recent years the “fairy” penguins are referenced in public documents as “little penguins.” Their Maori name is korora.
In any case, they are much, much smaller than the Emperor penguins of the Antarctic, whose lifestyles were captured in “The March of the Penguins,” an awe-inspiring 2005 documentary that caught the popular imagination. The Emperor Penguins sported black and white feathers, but these little penguins in Australia are blue and white – blue-feathered, to camouflage them from land-predators by blending into the deep blue sea where they spend 80 percent of their time foraging for food for their babies; and white-bellied to protect them from predators swimming below them in the sea. They are the only penguins in the world with blue and white outer feathers, which they keep waterproof by preening (and adding a drop of oil onto every feather from a special gland above the tail). Their feathers adapt into flippers for swimming.
Realizing how unique these penguins are, Penguin Island officials provide a way for interested tourists to watch the nightly parade of little penguins emerging from the sea – a ritual that occurs only at sunset and always at sunset, every day. Visitors must order tickets in advance that allow them to sit on benches set not too close to the sea in order not to scare the penguins but still close enough to see them well. As visitors, my daughter and I had to arrive and be seated early for the same reason.
Oh, it is so cold and windy out there on the beach. The sea is freezing cold too. The penguins like it that way. My daughter and I huddled up close to one another in jackets and hats and blankets, but the sea mist and the wind cut right through. Our fingers and toes froze. Only a few hours earlier we had been in warm and welcoming Melbourne. But we had come too far to retreat to the bus.
It was well worth it though, the experience of a true natural marvel as we watched the little penguins become partly visible, almost separating themselves from the waves one at a time, looking around to see if other penguins had arrived yet, and then ducking back into the sea to wait for the safety of additional penguin company before they braved the land.
There was reason to be fearful. Predators in the form of large land birds – sometimes there are feral dogs or cats as well — were already circling the shore in anticipation of the penguins’ sunset arrival. So the little penguins waited. There would be safety in numbers. You couldn’t help but marvel at the wonders of God’s world as more and more penguins appeared in ones and twos and threes. Finally there were enough to get into formation.
Instinctively they formed a little, single-file army, one brave penguin leading. One after another, they marched, following the penguin ahead in a straight line, no penguin diverging, and, once back in the grasses that lined the shore, they hurried directly to their individual burrows (little Australian penguins live in burrows). The land birds did not have the temerity to attack such a formidable-appearing force, even if individually each penguin was only a little over a foot tall.
How did the little penguins know where to go once they crossed the beach to the grasses that lined the shore? They were directed by the cries of their babies. To our human ears, all of them seemed to be crying out to their mothers together in one huge cacophony of wails. But just as a human mother somehow recognizes the cry of her own baby, so the penguins could identify the sound of their own. And they went straight to where their male partners were still guarding the babies. It was a moment not to be missed.
How do you tell the girls from the boys? The males have a little extra hook on their beaks. They are the ones that guard the babies in their burrows while the females are in the sea for long days, gorging themselves on seafood so that they will able to feed their babies. It’s an interesting feeding mechanism, kind of like an internal blender with a spout. They simply regurgitate the food from their beaks into their baby penguins’ hungry mouths. Economical and efficient. The wails on Phillip Island ceased.
Little penguins don’t necessarily mate for life; it depends on the breeding success of the couples in producing eggs. (Divorce rates may run up to 50 percent.) Normally, the females lay two eggs (about the size of chicken eggs), with an incubation period of 35 days. Yes, both parents take turns in incubating their eggs. Then the little ones head out to sea when they are between 7 to 11 weeks old. And they know what to do! As if they were touched by a fairy wand!