I love this question and want to thank you for asking it.  On the simplest level and regardless of where we live, I believe we are one people.  Yes, we are diverse.  We don’t agree on everything and sometimes we can be contentious with each other.  However, all of that comes from being part of a large extended family.

 

As a people and also as individuals, our spiritual relationship with G-d is defined by the Covenant first given to Abram.  One of the key elements of that Covenant is the promise of land.  In Genesis 15:18 we read, “On that day G-d made a covenant with Abram, saying ‘To your offspring I assign this land …’”  The Covenantal promise of land was repeated to Jacob in Genesis 28:13 and features prominently in the last four books of the Torah.  Our primary defining narrative is the story of the Exodus, our journey from Egyptian bondage to the Promised Land, that place where we will finally be able to build our communities around Torah.  Later on, the Prophets wrote about how we settled in the land, lost the land, and eventually returned, and in the Psalms, our longing for return as we languished by the rivers of Babylon is enshrined with the words, “If I forget you, O Jerusalem, let my right hand wither …” (Ps. 137:5).  For nearly two thousand years after the destruction of the Second Temple, we lived in galut (exile), but turned to face Jerusalem three times daily to pray for return (and we still face Jerusalem today).  We are blessed because our dream of return finally came true in 1948 with the establishment of the modern State of Israel.   Our history has been a recurring cycle of exile and return.

 

I don’t believe most of us live in galut anymore.  Many Western Jews choose to remain where they are rather than making aliyah (which is another interesting word we use when it comes to the place of Israel in our worldview).  I consider myself to be a Diaspora Jew, not a Jew living in exile.  As for the emphasis we place on Israel, it is a part of who we are.  I think we need to acknowledge and embrace our connections with Israel rather than attempt to downplay them.  Travel to Israel presents us with a powerful reality-check and helps to strengthen the connections between Diaspora Jews and Israel.  My first trip to Israel was truly life-changing, and today I consider facilitating and leading tours to Israel one of my most important tasks as a rabbi.  Finally, I think Israeli and Diaspora Jews should and in fact do contribute to one another. 

 

Thank you again for your question.

Your questions speak to a tension Jews have wrestled with for centuries, which suggests that there is no clean answer.  There is a terrific Midrash in the Talmud (Bava Metzia 59a-b) where the Sanhedrin debates a matter of halakhah.  Rabbi Eliezar ben Hyrcanus states that his interpretation is the only correct one, and stands in opposition to the rest.  He asks heaven to prove his point multiple times, and miraculously a carob tree uproots itself, moves to a new location and replants itself, a river flows backwards, the walls of the study hall begin to collapse and a voice from heaven confirms that R. Eliezar is correct.  R. Joshua, the head of the opposition, responds by saying (in effect) that ever since Sinai Torah has been in our hands – it is no longer in heaven and therefore it is for us, the majority, to decide.  According to the Midrash, G-d responded with joyful laughter.  

 

This story is just one of many examples in our tradition that demonstrate that halakhah is a process, not an answer.  Each generation has added its own insights and in some cases emendations.  At various times in our history posekim (rabbinic decisors) have been more or less flexible in their approach to halakhah, but certainly in the Talmudic period, there was room for differences of opinion.  I believe that the rabbis’ flexibility is a core principle that has helped us to survive and thrive as a people through two thousand years of exile.  For me, therefore, chumra is barely operative.  

 

As for the position of minhag in relation to halakhah, that too is a process. R. Eliezar’s story is instructive here because it places such an emphasis on the will of the majority, regardless of what the ‘correct’ halakhic opinion might be.  I generally try to follow minhag hamakom (local customs) when I travel out of respect, but there are lines in my own practice that I will not violate to do so.  When there is a conflict I find a polite way to excuse myself.  Alternatively, if you are struggling with elements of minhag in your own community, I would encourage you to speak directly with the rabbi there about your concerns – perhaps there is a solution or an understanding that eludes you.

 

Finally, I could not answer without providing at least a nod in the direction of Reform Judaism, the community within which I serve.  In Reform we allow for personal autonomy as part of our covenantal relationships, meaning we have a say in how we practice.  I would say the same is true for you.  If you are struggling with the minhag of your own community, there is ample variation of practice in the Jewish world – just waiting for you to discover.

 

Torah also has something to say about immigration policy.  The commandment for the community to look after the needs of the widow, the orphan and the stranger in our midst is repeated over 30 times in the Torah alone.  Today, Israel, like the United States is primarily an immigrant society – and in this way Israel has mirrored the commandment to care for and welcome the stranger with a robust immigration process.  Yet, like any nation, it must develop and implement immigration policies.  Such policies should be guided by ethics rather than xenophobia.  However, the realities around illegal immigration are incredibly complex, and I hesitate to make any blanket statements about what such a policy should specifically say.  In the best of all worlds, there are limits to the ability of any nation to absorb new immigrants.  In Israel, the issue of immigration is complicated because of Israel’s commitment to remaining a democratic Jewish State (which requires a Jewish majority in order to exist).  It seems to me that refugees should not be sent back to places where their lives could be in danger.  I could argue such a forced return as a violation of the commandment not to commit murder.  Beyond that extreme, however, I am less sure.  Illegal immigration and the policies around it, especially concerning temporary workers who stay after their visas expire, has been a serious problem in Israel for many years.  In south Tel Aviv alone, where many illegal immigrants settle, I have personally seen the work of well over a dozen outstanding organizations – actively supported by the municipality – who work to help illegal immigrants.  These people are doing the work of Torah, and in my opinion, if we follow the values of Torah then how we approach our internal problems will actually bring us closer to the needs of others rather than isolate us from them.  

Thank you for such a fascinating question!  In order to find an answer, I’d like to approach this in three different ways.  First, many Rabbinic authorities have equated electricity with fire – and therefore have legislated that turning an electric light on or off is equivalent to starting or putting out a fire.  For this reason, electric candles can be substituted for Shabbat candles in locations where an open flame is prohibited.

 

If this were the only basis for understanding the question then it would seem that an electric Havdalah candle could also be substituted in places where, for safety reasons, open flames are prohibited.  However, there are other considerations and together they make up the second way to approach the question.  The Shabbat candles are qualitatively different from the Havdalah candle in function, design and use.  Shabbat candles contain a single wick, whereas the Havdalah candle must have multiple wicks to create a light more like a torch than a candle.  Also, Shabbat candles are allowed to burn down whereas the Havdalah candle is generally extinguished after a few minutes in a Kiddush cup filled with wine.  (I would not recommend doing this with an electric light!!)

 

Finally, the blessing over the Shabbat candles is qualitatively different than the blessing over the Havdalah candle.  Among the differences are the use of the key words “ner” (light) for Shabbat and “ha-eish” (the fire) for Havdalah.  In the blessing for Shabbat candles we praise G-d for commanding us to kindle the light of Shabbat.  However, in the Havdalah blessing we acknowledge G-d as the creator of the lights of fire. Despite the correlation between electricity and fire by many authorities, the use of the word “ha-eish” seems to apply to an open flame here.

              

So where does this leave us?  I would advise you to try to use a candle rather than an electric light whenever possible.  You might consider observing Havdalah outside if the weather permits.  I would also recommend approaching whoever has established the rules prohibiting the use of open flame in your building to ask for an exception – especially as the flame is extinguished so quickly and will not be left unattended.  That said, there are examples of rabbis from every flavor of Judaism who have used light bulbs when a candle could not be found and at least one posek went out of his way to use a light bulb to establish the connection between electricity and fire.  As for an electric Havdalah candle, I have never seen or heard of one.  However, in my opinion, if you are not able to use a candle you could substitute a light bulb and look for the reflection of the light in your fingernails (just as you would with a candle).

A Ner Tamid (Eternal Light) is an essential element of every synagogue sanctuary and is traditionally suspended or placed above the Aron Kodesh (Holy Ark).  According to the rabbis, the light of the Ner Tamid represents the continuous presence of G-d in our midst.  G-d is associated with the image of fire throughout the book of Exodus, and the early lamps were fueled with oil and produced flame.  The practice of placing one in every sanctuary is derived from Exodus 27:20-21 which contains the commandment to keep a light continually burning outside the curtain that is placed over the ark.  There may also be a connection with Leviticus chapter 6:5-6 where we are commanded to keep a fire burning on the altar for all times.  Josephus recorded that a day was set aside each year during which all of the people would bring wood to the Second Temple, so that the flame would not go out.  Thus, the Ner Tamid may also remind us that we must actively work to keep G-d at the center of our community.

 

The only real requirement is to keep the Ner Tamid lit at all times.  It can be fashioned from virtually any material, in a wide range of sizes and styles.  It can be suspended from the ceiling or placed over the ark on a stand.  It can be fueled by oil and wick, but today we generally use electricity.  A few synagogues have recently moved towards solar power to symbolically connect the presence of G-d to the use of renewable energy and resources.

 

For many centuries, traditional Jews around the world have interpreted halacha (Jewish law) to state that the religious identity of a child is shared with his or her mother.  If the mother is Jewish then so is the child, if the mother is not Jewish then the child would not be recognized as Jewish.  The American Reform Movement began to question this practice as early as 1947, but the Central Conference of American Rabbis (our national rabbinic umbrella organization) did not issue a formal resolution until 1983.  In this resolution the CCAR established that if the child was raised exclusively as a Jew and one parent was Jewish, then the child would be recognized as a Jew in Reform communities regardless of the gender of the Jewish parent.  This resolution, called the Resolution on Patrilineal Descent resulted in a serious rift between the Reform Movement on the one side and Conservative and Orthodox Jews on the other.  Today it remains a significant point of contention between these groups. 

 

The answer to your question, then, is: “it depends.”  In American Reform and Reconstructionist communities your child would be considered Jewish because you are Jewish.  In Conservative and Orthodox communities he or she would not be considered Jewish because you might not be acknowledged as Jewish despite your Reform Jewish upbringing and identity.  In the United States there is a range of opinion within the Conservative movement.  That said, most of the Conservative rabbis I know would require you to take part in a ritual conversion but not necessarily in an intense course of study leading up to it.  In an Orthodox setting there would be far stricter requirements.  Your conversion would need to be completed before the birth of your children for them to be recognized as fully Jewish in these communities.

 

As for your status in Israel, this is more complicated.  Jewish religious law in Israel is currently under the control of Ultra-Orthodox state rabbis who do not recognize Conservative conversions and even some Orthodox conversions.  This would only effect your children if they one day wanted to marry an Israeli in Israel under the supervision of the chief rabbinate (which is currently the only way to have a legal Jewish wedding in Israel).  As the law in Israel currently stands your child would have to go through a conversion process under the supervision of a Ministry of Religion approved Orthodox rabbi before the wedding could take place.  However, more and more Israeli couples are seeking to get married outside of Israel on their own terms and some even return to Israel for Reform ceremonies that are not recognized by the State.  The Reform Movement in Israel has been fighting for religious pluralism for Jews in Israel for many years and has achieved some success, but I would hesitate to predict that any significant change is on the horizon.  That said, ten years is a very long time in Israel and anything is possible!