In this weeks Torah portion we find jacob approaching the borders of Canaan on his return from Padan Aram, and his Uncle Lavan's home. He is overcome with fear over the pending reunion with his brother Esau. Remember thirty four years ago when Jacob ran in fear because he had just taken his brothers birthright.
He starts the reunion not in person but first, by sending flocks to appease Esau and placing his family and possessions on the other side of a stream called the Yabbok for safety, Ya'akov was left alone for one night which he spent wrestling with a man until the break of dawn. This strange man, whom the Rabbi's explain to be an angel reveals that no longer will Jacob be his name but rather Israel.
This leads us to the question then, what exactly is in a name? Obviously assigning names holds some cosmic significance since giving names to all the creatures on the earth is the first recorded activity of man (B'reishit 2:20). The Or HaChaim teaches us that each name represents a soul. In this light (pun intended), the causative nature of a name is revealed: a name is a representation, a function, and carries with it personality traits. The Hebrew word for "name," spelled "Shin, Mem" contains the same letters as the Hebrew word for "put," suggesting that names place upon us the very nature of our beings.
Our tradition teaches that each of us has three names: the one we are given at birth, the one we are called, and our real name. The task of each person, according to the tradition, is to discover our real name.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Friday, November 12, 2010
Do you have to believe in God to be Jewish?
I can’t tell you how often I discuss this question with children and adults. “Tell me about the God you don’t believe in,” I often respond. Most people, it will not surprise you, do not believe in a God who looks like an old man sitting up in the sky pulling strings. But do you believe that there is a source of ultimate goodness in the world? Do you believe that everything happens for a reason? Do you believe that at the end of the day you simply die or is there something more? These are the questions we struggle with.
This week in the Torah we read about our father Jacob dreaming in the desert. He wrestles with an angel. When morning light comes the angel tries to leave. Jacob demands that the angel bless him. The angel says that he will change Jacob’s name to “Israel,” meaning “one who wrestles with God.”
In our Comparative Religion class we teach our children that the fundamental difference between Judaism and Christianity is one of beliefs verses actions. In Christianity the most important thing is to believe in Jesus as the human representative of God. In Judaism the most important thing is to observe the mitzvot – the commandments which instruct us how to live a good life. As a Jew you may struggle with the idea of God and that is OK. That is what the people of Israel are about – we are people who wrestle with God. This is who Jacob was, and who he became, a man who started off his life with great deceit and in turn was deceived himself. He literally gave birth to the tribes of Israel. Though he struggled with God, he ensured the survival of the Jewish people.
I can’t tell you how often I discuss this question with children and adults. “Tell me about the God you don’t believe in,” I often respond. Most people, it will not surprise you, do not believe in a God who looks like an old man sitting up in the sky pulling strings. But do you believe that there is a source of ultimate goodness in the world? Do you believe that everything happens for a reason? Do you believe that at the end of the day you simply die or is there something more? These are the questions we struggle with.
This week in the Torah we read about our father Jacob dreaming in the desert. He wrestles with an angel. When morning light comes the angel tries to leave. Jacob demands that the angel bless him. The angel says that he will change Jacob’s name to “Israel,” meaning “one who wrestles with God.”
In our Comparative Religion class we teach our children that the fundamental difference between Judaism and Christianity is one of beliefs verses actions. In Christianity the most important thing is to believe in Jesus as the human representative of God. In Judaism the most important thing is to observe the mitzvot – the commandments which instruct us how to live a good life. As a Jew you may struggle with the idea of God and that is OK. That is what the people of Israel are about – we are people who wrestle with God. This is who Jacob was, and who he became, a man who started off his life with great deceit and in turn was deceived himself. He literally gave birth to the tribes of Israel. Though he struggled with God, he ensured the survival of the Jewish people.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Generations
Sibling rivalry, parents’ pettiness, estranged family members. It is always surprising to me when people say that they don’t find Judaism relevant to their lives. What could be more relevant?
This week in Parashat Toledot we read about Rebecca and Isaac and their sons Jacob and Esau. As you may remember, while Rebecca is pregnant, she is told that her two sons will war against each other. She prefers Jacob and helps him trick his brother and father to receive Isaac’s blessing, which was Esau’s birthright. The story is a difficult one to understand from the outside. How could parents behave this way? Why isn’t Isaac able to un-do the blessing once he knows he has been tricked? Why aren’t Jacob and Rebecca punished?
The questions actually led me to think about families and how we often look at families from the outside and judge them. On one of my favorite TV shows the male character turns to the female one and says, “Now don’t judge me” She replies, “I wouldn’t do that.” He then says, “Sure you would! That’s what we do, we judge… Some people play sports, others read… we judge!”
Our tradition teaches us, “Don’t judge a fellow human being until you have stood in his place.” Family relationships are the most complex, difficult, and long lasting relationships that we have. Each of us struggles to live up to the ideal and embrace the reality of these relationships. Yet family relationships are often more public than we would prefer. I often think that stories like these are included in the Torah so we understand that everyone’s families have difficult moments, life-altering decisions, and attempts at reconciliation. This is what being involved with someone for your entire life is all about. You need not reproach yourself for how difficult your relationships are, but rather try simply to make them a little better today than they were yesterday.
This week in Parashat Toledot we read about Rebecca and Isaac and their sons Jacob and Esau. As you may remember, while Rebecca is pregnant, she is told that her two sons will war against each other. She prefers Jacob and helps him trick his brother and father to receive Isaac’s blessing, which was Esau’s birthright. The story is a difficult one to understand from the outside. How could parents behave this way? Why isn’t Isaac able to un-do the blessing once he knows he has been tricked? Why aren’t Jacob and Rebecca punished?
The questions actually led me to think about families and how we often look at families from the outside and judge them. On one of my favorite TV shows the male character turns to the female one and says, “Now don’t judge me” She replies, “I wouldn’t do that.” He then says, “Sure you would! That’s what we do, we judge… Some people play sports, others read… we judge!”
Our tradition teaches us, “Don’t judge a fellow human being until you have stood in his place.” Family relationships are the most complex, difficult, and long lasting relationships that we have. Each of us struggles to live up to the ideal and embrace the reality of these relationships. Yet family relationships are often more public than we would prefer. I often think that stories like these are included in the Torah so we understand that everyone’s families have difficult moments, life-altering decisions, and attempts at reconciliation. This is what being involved with someone for your entire life is all about. You need not reproach yourself for how difficult your relationships are, but rather try simply to make them a little better today than they were yesterday.
Friday, October 29, 2010
The life of Sarah
This week’s parasha is entitled Chaye Sarah. In English it means “the life of Sarah” but the parasha begins with her death. The Rabbis who comment on the Torah say that Sarah died when she heard about Abraham’s attempted sacrifice of Isaac.
When did Sarah hear about the sacrifice? What did she hear? Did someone tell her that Abraham was going to sacrifice her son and she knew what he would do in that situation? How often in Jewish life do we hear something and jump to a conclusion without truly finding out the whole story. We assume, based on past experiences, or based on one person’s negative experience, that the worst is true.
I wonder what Sarah thought about God. Here is a divinity that had taken her away from her family to journey into the desert. She was promised a child but forced to give a surrogate to her husband. She finally gives birth late in life and then hears that her husband is asked to sacrifice that son. “Why is this God asking so much?” I am sure she asked. Just hearing about what might have happened was enough -- she was walking away.
All too often in religious life, I feel that the negative experiences far outweigh the positives. Sarah rightfully did not think about how her children would be blessed years later or what she had gained already by deciding to be Jewish. She had big expectations and she wanted them to be realized sooner rather than later. If we could speak to her now, would she think it would have been worth it? Would she have understood the test?
We are all on journeys – hopefully not as taxing as Sarah’s, but they are lifetime relationships with Judaism, with the synagogue, and with God. It is hard to really reflect on your whole journey. It is easier to think about what you are receiving and what you are giving at this moment. But in the end, when we look back on our journey we hope that Judaism and synagogues have added to our lives. For me that is the goal of my rabbinate, to ensure that each child and family that I come into contact with has a richer, more meaningful life because Judaism enabled them to add holiness to that life.
When did Sarah hear about the sacrifice? What did she hear? Did someone tell her that Abraham was going to sacrifice her son and she knew what he would do in that situation? How often in Jewish life do we hear something and jump to a conclusion without truly finding out the whole story. We assume, based on past experiences, or based on one person’s negative experience, that the worst is true.
I wonder what Sarah thought about God. Here is a divinity that had taken her away from her family to journey into the desert. She was promised a child but forced to give a surrogate to her husband. She finally gives birth late in life and then hears that her husband is asked to sacrifice that son. “Why is this God asking so much?” I am sure she asked. Just hearing about what might have happened was enough -- she was walking away.
All too often in religious life, I feel that the negative experiences far outweigh the positives. Sarah rightfully did not think about how her children would be blessed years later or what she had gained already by deciding to be Jewish. She had big expectations and she wanted them to be realized sooner rather than later. If we could speak to her now, would she think it would have been worth it? Would she have understood the test?
We are all on journeys – hopefully not as taxing as Sarah’s, but they are lifetime relationships with Judaism, with the synagogue, and with God. It is hard to really reflect on your whole journey. It is easier to think about what you are receiving and what you are giving at this moment. But in the end, when we look back on our journey we hope that Judaism and synagogues have added to our lives. For me that is the goal of my rabbinate, to ensure that each child and family that I come into contact with has a richer, more meaningful life because Judaism enabled them to add holiness to that life.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
What is a sukkah?
Today I recieved an email from a friend that has opened my eyes! Can you make it to New Yrok? At least take a look and vote online!
Sukkah vs. Sukkah
Twelve architects compete to redesign the ritual holiday hut—and you get to pick the winner.
http://nymag.com/arts/architecture/features/68057/
Today I recieved an email from a friend that has opened my eyes! Can you make it to New Yrok? At least take a look and vote online!
Sukkah vs. Sukkah
Twelve architects compete to redesign the ritual holiday hut—and you get to pick the winner.
http://nymag.com/arts/architecture/features/68057/
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Burning books
Hours before Rosh Hashanah and here are the thoughts burning in my head....
The Bebelplatz in Berlin is known as the site of the infamous Nazi book burning ceremony held in the evening of May 10, 1933 by members of the SA ("brownshirts"), SS, Nazi students and Hitler Youth groups, on the instigation of Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels. The Nazis burned around 20,000 books, including works by Thomas Mann, Erich Maria Remarque, Heinrich Heine, Karl Marx and many other authors. Today a memorial by Micha Ullman consisting of a glass plate set into the cobbles, giving a view of empty bookcases, commemorates the book burning. It is a powerful reminder of an event that is painful to consider. I stood there as a tourist and creid seeing the empty shelves!
A line of Heinrich Heine is engraved at the sight, stating "Dort, wo man Bücher verbrennt, verbrennt man am Ende auch Menschen" (in English: "Where they burn books, they ultimately burn people").
I was very distressed to learn of the planned "Burn a Koran Day" on Sept. 11 at the Dove World Outreach Center in Gainesville.
As Jews, we have a tragic history of watching bigots and fanatics burn our books, and we know that very often book-burning is the beginning, not the end, of provocation and violence against a people. We also know the pain which is added to a terrible situation when others remain silent in the face of such awful intolerance. And so we feel it is our sacred duty to stand with all good people, from all religions, against this shameful act.
It is both factually and morally wrong to blame all Muslims for the 9/11 attacks, and to assault their religion through the desecration of their holiest book. We cannot remain silent as their sacred scriptures are burned, nor can we accept the demonization of an entire religion because of the terrible acts of a minority from that religion.
I pray that the organizers of this travesty will desist from their plans, as I pray that our Muslim friends, neighbors, co-workers and family members know that these fanatics do not speak for the rest of us.
The Bebelplatz in Berlin is known as the site of the infamous Nazi book burning ceremony held in the evening of May 10, 1933 by members of the SA ("brownshirts"), SS, Nazi students and Hitler Youth groups, on the instigation of Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels. The Nazis burned around 20,000 books, including works by Thomas Mann, Erich Maria Remarque, Heinrich Heine, Karl Marx and many other authors. Today a memorial by Micha Ullman consisting of a glass plate set into the cobbles, giving a view of empty bookcases, commemorates the book burning. It is a powerful reminder of an event that is painful to consider. I stood there as a tourist and creid seeing the empty shelves!
A line of Heinrich Heine is engraved at the sight, stating "Dort, wo man Bücher verbrennt, verbrennt man am Ende auch Menschen" (in English: "Where they burn books, they ultimately burn people").
I was very distressed to learn of the planned "Burn a Koran Day" on Sept. 11 at the Dove World Outreach Center in Gainesville.
As Jews, we have a tragic history of watching bigots and fanatics burn our books, and we know that very often book-burning is the beginning, not the end, of provocation and violence against a people. We also know the pain which is added to a terrible situation when others remain silent in the face of such awful intolerance. And so we feel it is our sacred duty to stand with all good people, from all religions, against this shameful act.
It is both factually and morally wrong to blame all Muslims for the 9/11 attacks, and to assault their religion through the desecration of their holiest book. We cannot remain silent as their sacred scriptures are burned, nor can we accept the demonization of an entire religion because of the terrible acts of a minority from that religion.
I pray that the organizers of this travesty will desist from their plans, as I pray that our Muslim friends, neighbors, co-workers and family members know that these fanatics do not speak for the rest of us.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Opening the Gates
The liturgy of the High Holy Days is permeated with the metaphor of “the gates.” The gates of repentance are opened for us as the new year enters. The gates of repentance begin to close at Neilah. So, too, in most modern American synagogues, there is a literal and physical “opening of the gates” in preparation for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.
In anticipation of holiday crowds we open up our sanctuaries by retracting the back wall. A vast space is thereby created for our enlarged congregation. Just as in ancient Jerusalem on the festivals, the gates of the Temple are opened and the crowds surge in.
The High Holy Days are powerful. For centuries, the sound of the shofar has summoned Jews to our places of worship. Jews of every stripe are moved by its sounds. Regular worshipers and holiday-only worshipers, believers and non-believers, old and young, men and women, Hebrew readers and non-Hebrew readers, congregational activists and those who struggle defining their place in the congregation – all of us, it seems, are drawn to our sanctuary.
The back wall of the sanctuary in a just a few days will no longer in place. A sea of chairs awaits the congregation. The office is abuzz with preparations. The phone is ringing. E-mails are piling up. The holidays draw near!
But in a deeper sense, the gates of the spirit, the gates of Jewishness, the gates of community are beginning to open. Out there, on our personal radar screens, a bleep approaches. Rosh Hashanah is just around the corner. Schedule adjustments need to be made. Emotional adjustments need to be made. The gates are opening and soon we will be passing from the daily course of our lives to the sacred precincts of our souls.
The gates are opening. The shofar is calling you. May you find spiritual nourishment in our worship on this Rosh Hashanah and may the gates of Torah remain open for you long after the holidays pass. Indeed, they are always open for you in the community and in your hearts.
A healthy and a happy
The liturgy of the High Holy Days is permeated with the metaphor of “the gates.” The gates of repentance are opened for us as the new year enters. The gates of repentance begin to close at Neilah. So, too, in most modern American synagogues, there is a literal and physical “opening of the gates” in preparation for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.
In anticipation of holiday crowds we open up our sanctuaries by retracting the back wall. A vast space is thereby created for our enlarged congregation. Just as in ancient Jerusalem on the festivals, the gates of the Temple are opened and the crowds surge in.
The High Holy Days are powerful. For centuries, the sound of the shofar has summoned Jews to our places of worship. Jews of every stripe are moved by its sounds. Regular worshipers and holiday-only worshipers, believers and non-believers, old and young, men and women, Hebrew readers and non-Hebrew readers, congregational activists and those who struggle defining their place in the congregation – all of us, it seems, are drawn to our sanctuary.
The back wall of the sanctuary in a just a few days will no longer in place. A sea of chairs awaits the congregation. The office is abuzz with preparations. The phone is ringing. E-mails are piling up. The holidays draw near!
But in a deeper sense, the gates of the spirit, the gates of Jewishness, the gates of community are beginning to open. Out there, on our personal radar screens, a bleep approaches. Rosh Hashanah is just around the corner. Schedule adjustments need to be made. Emotional adjustments need to be made. The gates are opening and soon we will be passing from the daily course of our lives to the sacred precincts of our souls.
The gates are opening. The shofar is calling you. May you find spiritual nourishment in our worship on this Rosh Hashanah and may the gates of Torah remain open for you long after the holidays pass. Indeed, they are always open for you in the community and in your hearts.
A healthy and a happy
Thursday, August 26, 2010
This week’s Torah portion, Ki Tavo, begins with a text that is familiar to anyone who has attended a traditional Passover Seder. After instructing us to we put the first fruits of the harvest in a basket and bring it to the priest, the Torah commands that we say: "My father was a fugitive Aramean. He went down to Egypt with meager numbers and sojourned there; but there he became a great and very populous nation."
This summary of our history is a wonderful example of "remembering." Jewish tradition understands that the process of telling and retelling the stories of our past shapes our identities at least as powerfully as the events themselves did (sometimes, more!). This portion teaches us it matters that we remember to tell our story and it matters how we choose to tell our story. For, as the Baal Shem Tov taught: "In remembrance is the secret of redemption."
Think of a significant event in your life. As you told the story of that experience to various friends and family members, your interpretation of that event began to take shape. Repeating the same details and even using some of the same words/phrases, you eventually found a way of telling the story that helped you make sense of your past.
Let’s think a few days ahead. Rosh Hashanah is called Yom Ha'zikaron (Day of Remembering). In one sense, Rosh Hashanah is all about remembering. We gather in community to tell ourselves, once again, our story. In so doing (even when that story is painful), we regain our sense of where we are and where we're going, based on our understanding of where we've been. That may be among the most profound meanings of "teshuvah" — repentance/turning back. So, it matters greatly that we remember to tell our stories and it matters even more how we choose to tell them. Without them, we are often lost. On Rosh Hashanah and as we prepare for the holidays, we remember to remember.
on another note.....Here is a bit about the movie we are screening on Selichot.
http://www.godinthebox.com/
This summary of our history is a wonderful example of "remembering." Jewish tradition understands that the process of telling and retelling the stories of our past shapes our identities at least as powerfully as the events themselves did (sometimes, more!). This portion teaches us it matters that we remember to tell our story and it matters how we choose to tell our story. For, as the Baal Shem Tov taught: "In remembrance is the secret of redemption."
Think of a significant event in your life. As you told the story of that experience to various friends and family members, your interpretation of that event began to take shape. Repeating the same details and even using some of the same words/phrases, you eventually found a way of telling the story that helped you make sense of your past.
Let’s think a few days ahead. Rosh Hashanah is called Yom Ha'zikaron (Day of Remembering). In one sense, Rosh Hashanah is all about remembering. We gather in community to tell ourselves, once again, our story. In so doing (even when that story is painful), we regain our sense of where we are and where we're going, based on our understanding of where we've been. That may be among the most profound meanings of "teshuvah" — repentance/turning back. So, it matters greatly that we remember to tell our stories and it matters even more how we choose to tell them. Without them, we are often lost. On Rosh Hashanah and as we prepare for the holidays, we remember to remember.
on another note.....Here is a bit about the movie we are screening on Selichot.
http://www.godinthebox.com/
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
vows
The Torah portion Matot deals with vows and promises.
I’ll start with one of the oldest jokes I can remember....
A man joins a monastery and takes a vow of silence: he’s allowed to say two words every seven years.
After the first seven years, the elders bring him in and ask for his two words. "Cold floors," he says. They nod and send him away.
Seven more years pass. They bring him back in and ask for his two words. He clears his throats and says, "Bad food." They nod and send him away.
Seven more years pass. They bring him in for his two words. "I quit," he says. "That’s not surprising," the elders say. "You’ve done nothing but complain since you got here."
What is the difference between an oath (Shuvah) and a vow (Neder)? Though you may not know these technical terms or the Hebrew, you have heard them before. During Kol Nidre, which is an legal formula chanted in Aramaic on the eve of Yom Kippur to annul unfulfilled vows, there is a list of various types of promises made in God's name from which we hope to be released should we fail to fulfill them. It seems like a strange way to start Yom Kippur, by annulling our vows. It is a reminder though of how seriously we as Jews take the words we speak.
Professor Jacob Milgrom, editor of the Numbers volume of the JPS Torah Commentary, helps us sort out these terms. According to Milgrom, when making oaths (sh'vuot), one either asserts that something is true (e.g., an oath of innocence) or promises to undertake an obligation (e.g., David's oath that his son, Solomon, would rule after him [I Kings 1:13, 17, 30]). By contrast, vows {"nedarim"} are conditional promises to dedicate something (or someone!) to the sanctuary (e.g., Hannah's promise to dedicate her son to the sanctuary if God answers her prayer that she become fertile).
In Jewish tradition, making a promise in God's name is very serious business. The procedure for annulling them is also complex. The message seems to be that one should be very careful with one's words-— particularly when making a promise in which God is involved! And yet, since vows and oaths are fairly common in the Bible and are discussed at length in Rabbinic Judaism, it seems that making them was quite popular and important to our ancestors.
I wonder if we've lost the conviction that enabled our ancestors to speak vows and oaths and take them seriously. Abraham Joshua Heschel once said: our "words have ceased to be commitments." I wonder if we ourselves take our words seriously.
Although it frightens me to admit it, we are about to turn the corner of the Jewish year and begin approaching the High Holy Days, a time when we traditionally think about our vows and oaths. It's a good opportunity to consider how well we've fulfilled promises we've made and think about those we've not found the courage or conviction to make.
I’ll start with one of the oldest jokes I can remember....
A man joins a monastery and takes a vow of silence: he’s allowed to say two words every seven years.
After the first seven years, the elders bring him in and ask for his two words. "Cold floors," he says. They nod and send him away.
Seven more years pass. They bring him back in and ask for his two words. He clears his throats and says, "Bad food." They nod and send him away.
Seven more years pass. They bring him in for his two words. "I quit," he says. "That’s not surprising," the elders say. "You’ve done nothing but complain since you got here."
What is the difference between an oath (Shuvah) and a vow (Neder)? Though you may not know these technical terms or the Hebrew, you have heard them before. During Kol Nidre, which is an legal formula chanted in Aramaic on the eve of Yom Kippur to annul unfulfilled vows, there is a list of various types of promises made in God's name from which we hope to be released should we fail to fulfill them. It seems like a strange way to start Yom Kippur, by annulling our vows. It is a reminder though of how seriously we as Jews take the words we speak.
Professor Jacob Milgrom, editor of the Numbers volume of the JPS Torah Commentary, helps us sort out these terms. According to Milgrom, when making oaths (sh'vuot), one either asserts that something is true (e.g., an oath of innocence) or promises to undertake an obligation (e.g., David's oath that his son, Solomon, would rule after him [I Kings 1:13, 17, 30]). By contrast, vows {"nedarim"} are conditional promises to dedicate something (or someone!) to the sanctuary (e.g., Hannah's promise to dedicate her son to the sanctuary if God answers her prayer that she become fertile).
In Jewish tradition, making a promise in God's name is very serious business. The procedure for annulling them is also complex. The message seems to be that one should be very careful with one's words-— particularly when making a promise in which God is involved! And yet, since vows and oaths are fairly common in the Bible and are discussed at length in Rabbinic Judaism, it seems that making them was quite popular and important to our ancestors.
I wonder if we've lost the conviction that enabled our ancestors to speak vows and oaths and take them seriously. Abraham Joshua Heschel once said: our "words have ceased to be commitments." I wonder if we ourselves take our words seriously.
Although it frightens me to admit it, we are about to turn the corner of the Jewish year and begin approaching the High Holy Days, a time when we traditionally think about our vows and oaths. It's a good opportunity to consider how well we've fulfilled promises we've made and think about those we've not found the courage or conviction to make.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Chukat
Blog problems! Sorry that it seems no post has appeared here for a while...it seems to be working again!
So now on to the Torah portion Chukat....
The children of Israel are, to say the least, not an easy bunch! They reject their covenantal responsibilities time and again for a piece of meat, a golden calf, a sexy Moabite; they yearn for the “good old days” in Egypt. They are truly children, infantilized by slavery and unable to endure freedom.
Pushing this difficult group, Moses has the voice of the prophet, confronting evil, yet he remains humble. He demands that they understand the Torah they are receiving and refuses to accept either God's or the people's demands that his status be elevated. Yet the Torah is unequivocal – Moses is fatally flawed. He is condemned to die in the desert, forbidden entry to the Land of Israel, a land to which the people have dreamed of returning for 400 years.
In this week’s Torah portion the people rebel once again, complaining to Moses about the lack of water. God tells Moses to order the rock to yield its water. Moses then responds to the people: "Listen, you rebels, shall we get water for you out of this rock?" In his frustration with them, Moses hits the rock, water pours out and the people temporarily quench their thirst.
After enough pushing, even Moses lost his temper. This is exactly what makes Moses a realistic role model for all of us! He succumbed to his frustration, lost his temper, and hit the rock. He was human! How do we handle the most challenging situations in our lives? Can we avoid making a mistake that might have a negative impact on us or on others? Perhaps we should remember, through our own difficulties, that even Moses struggled with this problem and that there are no easy answers.
So now on to the Torah portion Chukat....
The children of Israel are, to say the least, not an easy bunch! They reject their covenantal responsibilities time and again for a piece of meat, a golden calf, a sexy Moabite; they yearn for the “good old days” in Egypt. They are truly children, infantilized by slavery and unable to endure freedom.
Pushing this difficult group, Moses has the voice of the prophet, confronting evil, yet he remains humble. He demands that they understand the Torah they are receiving and refuses to accept either God's or the people's demands that his status be elevated. Yet the Torah is unequivocal – Moses is fatally flawed. He is condemned to die in the desert, forbidden entry to the Land of Israel, a land to which the people have dreamed of returning for 400 years.
In this week’s Torah portion the people rebel once again, complaining to Moses about the lack of water. God tells Moses to order the rock to yield its water. Moses then responds to the people: "Listen, you rebels, shall we get water for you out of this rock?" In his frustration with them, Moses hits the rock, water pours out and the people temporarily quench their thirst.
After enough pushing, even Moses lost his temper. This is exactly what makes Moses a realistic role model for all of us! He succumbed to his frustration, lost his temper, and hit the rock. He was human! How do we handle the most challenging situations in our lives? Can we avoid making a mistake that might have a negative impact on us or on others? Perhaps we should remember, through our own difficulties, that even Moses struggled with this problem and that there are no easy answers.
Monday, May 17, 2010
one more post today...
Dear Readers,
Seems I had some technical difficulty the past few weeks...sorry! I am still blogging away!
Since I titled the blog running with the Rabbi I figure i will add a running update..I am back. I signed up for a half-marathon in October and now its time to undo the lazy winter feeling! See you on the roads! I expect to be achey the next few weeks till i am back in the flow but...I do love when I am in shape.
Seems I had some technical difficulty the past few weeks...sorry! I am still blogging away!
Since I titled the blog running with the Rabbi I figure i will add a running update..I am back. I signed up for a half-marathon in October and now its time to undo the lazy winter feeling! See you on the roads! I expect to be achey the next few weeks till i am back in the flow but...I do love when I am in shape.
Shavuot, running and apology....
As Reform Jews, we link the rite of passage of Confirmation with the Festival of Shavuot. In part, the holiday celebrates the receiving of the Ten Commandments. Shavuot occurs seven weeks after Pesach in order to teach us that in Judaism, the Exodus from Egypt is directly tied to the receiving of the Torah. In other words, in the tradition that guides our lives, there is no freedom without responsibility.
To further illustrate this truth, we read the Book of Ruth on Shavuot as well. In it, a poor, old Israelite widow, Naomi, is joined in friendship by her Moabite daughter-in-law Ruth, who supports and sustains her on her lonely journey back to Canaan. Leaving her family behind and sacrificing a certain future for the unknown, Ruth declares: “Wherever you go, I will go; wherever you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God." Ruth’s commitment to Naomi and to Judaism is rewarded further when a distant relative of Naomi, a man named Boaz, allows Ruth to glean fruit from the corners of his fields, marries her and, with her, creates a child. This child, Obed, becomes the father of Jesse, who is the father of King David, the greatest ruler our people has ever known. During his rule, not only is peace established, but his reign brings with it the promise of ultimate peace, as the Messiah, the redeemer of all of humanity, is to descend from David and herald a time of peace on earth for all people.
This brief, four chapter story teaches us many lessons about the essence of Jewish life. Most importantly, the Book of Ruth teaches us that we never know what person, word, deed or event may influence and alter our lives forever. Acts of kindness in the story have ripple effects for eternity. Boaz’s redemption of Ruth from isolation and poverty to prosperity and joy yield possibilities for the redemption not only of the Jewish people, but of the world. May this holiday of Shavuot, time of receiving our Torah, remind us of all of the great gifts that we have received and connect us ever stronger to our foundation, our Tree of Life.
To further illustrate this truth, we read the Book of Ruth on Shavuot as well. In it, a poor, old Israelite widow, Naomi, is joined in friendship by her Moabite daughter-in-law Ruth, who supports and sustains her on her lonely journey back to Canaan. Leaving her family behind and sacrificing a certain future for the unknown, Ruth declares: “Wherever you go, I will go; wherever you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God." Ruth’s commitment to Naomi and to Judaism is rewarded further when a distant relative of Naomi, a man named Boaz, allows Ruth to glean fruit from the corners of his fields, marries her and, with her, creates a child. This child, Obed, becomes the father of Jesse, who is the father of King David, the greatest ruler our people has ever known. During his rule, not only is peace established, but his reign brings with it the promise of ultimate peace, as the Messiah, the redeemer of all of humanity, is to descend from David and herald a time of peace on earth for all people.
This brief, four chapter story teaches us many lessons about the essence of Jewish life. Most importantly, the Book of Ruth teaches us that we never know what person, word, deed or event may influence and alter our lives forever. Acts of kindness in the story have ripple effects for eternity. Boaz’s redemption of Ruth from isolation and poverty to prosperity and joy yield possibilities for the redemption not only of the Jewish people, but of the world. May this holiday of Shavuot, time of receiving our Torah, remind us of all of the great gifts that we have received and connect us ever stronger to our foundation, our Tree of Life.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Counting
“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. ” This is a countdown that our kids are used to hearing! They always finish the task when we reach the right number! I have learned that a countdown should start at 3 and not at ten! Countdowns are also part of our personal lives. Before you know it someone will remind us that there are only 213 days to Hanukkah. I know there are those getting married this summer or celebrating other life cycle events that are counting down the weeks and days. Many of us have counted down the days to a major transition moment in our lives, be it major birthdays, how soon we can drive, how long before we go to college, or retire, and even how long until our next great vacation. Counting down offers us a growing sense that the cherished moment is getting closer and closer.
This week's Torah portion Emor reminds us that there is a different way to count. We count in a very precise fashion. For seven weeks leading up to the festival of Shavuot we count. In ancient times the count marked the transition from one agricultural season, the barley harvest, to the early summer wheat harvest. For us, counting agricultural days are not part of our purview, unless we are very obsessive about those tomato plants. Perhaps we know counting better from how many more days till Rita's Water Ice opens. In Judaism, we continue the count to mark the transition from Passover to Shavuot; to mark the transition from a liberation from Egypt to the revelation of the Torah at Sinai. In recent years we have added some important steps to this period of counting, like a celebration of Israel and remembering those who died during the Holocaust.
This process of counting gives us an opportunity to appreciate every day more fully, reminding us that in Judaism the journey is as meaningful as the destination.
Our text teaches us yet another lesson about time. It teaches us the value of sacred time. All of us are living ever-more stressed lives. “Time away” has disappeared, particularly with the advent of cell phones. We are available 24/7. The Torah comes to remind us that we need to stop and stand apart from that mad rush through time; that there are moments in our lives called sacred time. The great Jewish thinker Abraham Joshua Heschel offered the idea of Shabbat, of the Sabbath, as an island in time.
The text proposes that there are sacred times. Weekly there is Shabbat, both a reminder of God’s resting after creation, which perhaps should resonate with many of us who work many hours, and of our liberation from Egypt, when our ancestors as slaves were granted no “down time.” The holiday cycle comes to remind us that we need to celebrate liberation, revelation, and our agricultural bounty—Passover, Shavuot and Sukkot, respectively -- but also that there is a moment of renewal and new beginnings (Rosh HaShanah) and also a time for personal reflection and repentance (Yom Kippur). Add to that list, later holidays of Hanukkah, with its reminder of light and restoration, of Purim, celebrating the joy of survival, and most recently Yom HaAtzamaut, Israel Independence Day, which reminds us of the miracle of the modern Jewish State, and we have the core of the cycle. At the heart of this view of time is that we are part of a community; not just individuals with time on our hands. But as community members we need to pause, celebrate, commemorate and, yes, recharge our spiritual batteries. Just as we recognize that our cell phone batteries need periodic recharging so, too, we should be mindful that our souls require recharging. And the Jewish calendar is a reminder of that necessity.
We are taught in Judaism that time is a commodity that can never be regained!
This week's Torah portion Emor reminds us that there is a different way to count. We count in a very precise fashion. For seven weeks leading up to the festival of Shavuot we count. In ancient times the count marked the transition from one agricultural season, the barley harvest, to the early summer wheat harvest. For us, counting agricultural days are not part of our purview, unless we are very obsessive about those tomato plants. Perhaps we know counting better from how many more days till Rita's Water Ice opens. In Judaism, we continue the count to mark the transition from Passover to Shavuot; to mark the transition from a liberation from Egypt to the revelation of the Torah at Sinai. In recent years we have added some important steps to this period of counting, like a celebration of Israel and remembering those who died during the Holocaust.
This process of counting gives us an opportunity to appreciate every day more fully, reminding us that in Judaism the journey is as meaningful as the destination.
Our text teaches us yet another lesson about time. It teaches us the value of sacred time. All of us are living ever-more stressed lives. “Time away” has disappeared, particularly with the advent of cell phones. We are available 24/7. The Torah comes to remind us that we need to stop and stand apart from that mad rush through time; that there are moments in our lives called sacred time. The great Jewish thinker Abraham Joshua Heschel offered the idea of Shabbat, of the Sabbath, as an island in time.
The text proposes that there are sacred times. Weekly there is Shabbat, both a reminder of God’s resting after creation, which perhaps should resonate with many of us who work many hours, and of our liberation from Egypt, when our ancestors as slaves were granted no “down time.” The holiday cycle comes to remind us that we need to celebrate liberation, revelation, and our agricultural bounty—Passover, Shavuot and Sukkot, respectively -- but also that there is a moment of renewal and new beginnings (Rosh HaShanah) and also a time for personal reflection and repentance (Yom Kippur). Add to that list, later holidays of Hanukkah, with its reminder of light and restoration, of Purim, celebrating the joy of survival, and most recently Yom HaAtzamaut, Israel Independence Day, which reminds us of the miracle of the modern Jewish State, and we have the core of the cycle. At the heart of this view of time is that we are part of a community; not just individuals with time on our hands. But as community members we need to pause, celebrate, commemorate and, yes, recharge our spiritual batteries. Just as we recognize that our cell phone batteries need periodic recharging so, too, we should be mindful that our souls require recharging. And the Jewish calendar is a reminder of that necessity.
We are taught in Judaism that time is a commodity that can never be regained!
Friday, April 23, 2010
Kedoshim
A would-be convert asks Rabbi Hillel, one of the greatest rabbis of all times, “Can you tell me what the Torah is about while standing on one foot?” (A great trick to keep rabbis words to a minimum, I think!) Hillel replied, from this week’s Torah Portion, “Love your Neighbor as Yourself.” That is the whole Torah. All the rest is commentary; now go and study it.
I don’t think a day goes by when I don’t ask myself what the point is of a specific lesson, program, or event -- not in a dismissive way, but in a deep philosophical way. Why do we do anything we do hereat Tempel Sholom? Why do we exist? As a reader of educational and business literature, I’ve learned that the task is simple: be vision-centered and mission-driven. Know at all times what your purpose is and stick to it.
Our purpose is clear: to increase people’s connection to that which is holy and sacred. “Kedoshim Tihiu,” we read this week – “You shall be holy.” The “you” is the entire Jewish community. How do we go about being holy? By observing Shabbat and rituals, by giving to the poor and reaching out to the needy, and by studying and learning more about what is commanded of us. But why? What is the point? The point is that we can learn to love our neighbors as ourselves.
Why come to Shabbat services? To be inspired to do more, to be more, and to care for others. Why did we just observe Yom HaShoah and Yom HaZikaron? To remember those who sacrificed their lives for us and encourage us to honor their memory.
“But can’t we just be a good person? Isn’t that enough?” you may ask. In an interview with Martina Navratilova. She spoke about how after a few years of falling second to Chris Evert someone finally said to her, “When are you really going to try to win? When are you going to change what you do every day, change your work out, change your preparation to be prepared to beat her on the court?” Could Martina Navratilova practice a few hours a day by herself and be very good? Yes. Could she be the best? No. She needed guidance, inspiration and a system of discipline, a set of rules.
“Kedoshim Tihiu - we shall be holy.” We have the capacity to bring the divine in us into the rest of the word. In order to do that, though, we must urge ourselves to take advantage of the numerous ways in which this community helps us learn how to really be holy, how to really love every single neighbor like we love ourselves. Each of us has chosen to belong to a community which can help inspire us to live a sacred life; all we have to do is participate.
I don’t think a day goes by when I don’t ask myself what the point is of a specific lesson, program, or event -- not in a dismissive way, but in a deep philosophical way. Why do we do anything we do hereat Tempel Sholom? Why do we exist? As a reader of educational and business literature, I’ve learned that the task is simple: be vision-centered and mission-driven. Know at all times what your purpose is and stick to it.
Our purpose is clear: to increase people’s connection to that which is holy and sacred. “Kedoshim Tihiu,” we read this week – “You shall be holy.” The “you” is the entire Jewish community. How do we go about being holy? By observing Shabbat and rituals, by giving to the poor and reaching out to the needy, and by studying and learning more about what is commanded of us. But why? What is the point? The point is that we can learn to love our neighbors as ourselves.
Why come to Shabbat services? To be inspired to do more, to be more, and to care for others. Why did we just observe Yom HaShoah and Yom HaZikaron? To remember those who sacrificed their lives for us and encourage us to honor their memory.
“But can’t we just be a good person? Isn’t that enough?” you may ask. In an interview with Martina Navratilova. She spoke about how after a few years of falling second to Chris Evert someone finally said to her, “When are you really going to try to win? When are you going to change what you do every day, change your work out, change your preparation to be prepared to beat her on the court?” Could Martina Navratilova practice a few hours a day by herself and be very good? Yes. Could she be the best? No. She needed guidance, inspiration and a system of discipline, a set of rules.
“Kedoshim Tihiu - we shall be holy.” We have the capacity to bring the divine in us into the rest of the word. In order to do that, though, we must urge ourselves to take advantage of the numerous ways in which this community helps us learn how to really be holy, how to really love every single neighbor like we love ourselves. Each of us has chosen to belong to a community which can help inspire us to live a sacred life; all we have to do is participate.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Tazria Metzorah
I have read the words to the poem “Birth is a beginning and death a destination” hundreds of times. I am not sure why I never hear the poem at baby namings or a bris, I hear it sometimes at regular services, but most often at Yizkor or funerals. The poem is so striking to me because I am always thinking about how young I am, and how it must be hard for a congregation of mourners to listen to me speak about life-long lessons when I have lived such a short life compared to them. It is also striking because I long for the time in the journey when I have moved from ignorance to knowing, from foolishness to discretion. I long for the time when I know what the right words are to comfort someone, what the words are to say when there are no words.
Intellectually I understand this time will never come. What is comforting to one person is offensive to another. The only way to really be able to comfort someone is to know everything about them, to know what will bring a smile to their face and what will cause a tear to shed, and when to evoke each emotion.
The problem with our world is that it contains suffering. There has always been cruelty, sickness, and despair. In our Torah portion this week, Tazria-Metzorah, the parashah focuses on a disease that not only affects one physically but it affects how an individual looks. It is also contagious so it affects how the person can interact with others. Perhaps this is the definition of true suffering. It cannot be hidden, it affects how you feel, how you look, and how others treat you. At this time in our calendar as we approach the season of Passover we also think of suffering and liberation.
It is always surprising to me when people tell me they no longer believe in God because of a personal tragedy, because of something specific that happened to them on a certain day. While I understand, I want to ask them – was it OK when others were suffering but only when it happened to you, then you stopped believing in God?
What is remarkable about both the parashah this week and the story of the season is that both inherently command us to be concerned about those that are in pain. In Tazria-Metzorah there is a clear communal element to how we treat those who are sick.
When people tell me they no longer believe in God, it is most often in response to a hospital visit or pastoral phone call. When they say this I want to respond, “If you don’t believe in God, believe in me, believe in the community. Have faith that your friends, your family, and the relationships that you value in your life will help you and bring you comfort.”
Intellectually I understand this time will never come. What is comforting to one person is offensive to another. The only way to really be able to comfort someone is to know everything about them, to know what will bring a smile to their face and what will cause a tear to shed, and when to evoke each emotion.
The problem with our world is that it contains suffering. There has always been cruelty, sickness, and despair. In our Torah portion this week, Tazria-Metzorah, the parashah focuses on a disease that not only affects one physically but it affects how an individual looks. It is also contagious so it affects how the person can interact with others. Perhaps this is the definition of true suffering. It cannot be hidden, it affects how you feel, how you look, and how others treat you. At this time in our calendar as we approach the season of Passover we also think of suffering and liberation.
It is always surprising to me when people tell me they no longer believe in God because of a personal tragedy, because of something specific that happened to them on a certain day. While I understand, I want to ask them – was it OK when others were suffering but only when it happened to you, then you stopped believing in God?
What is remarkable about both the parashah this week and the story of the season is that both inherently command us to be concerned about those that are in pain. In Tazria-Metzorah there is a clear communal element to how we treat those who are sick.
When people tell me they no longer believe in God, it is most often in response to a hospital visit or pastoral phone call. When they say this I want to respond, “If you don’t believe in God, believe in me, believe in the community. Have faith that your friends, your family, and the relationships that you value in your life will help you and bring you comfort.”
Friday, April 9, 2010
Yom Hashoah
This Sunday, corresponding to the 27th of Nisan, is Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Memorial Day. The history of Yom HaShoah is brief but incredibly complex and instructive about the Jewish world today, indeed about the place of the Holocaust in the world as a whole and even the nature of Zionism. From the very beginning, the idea of a Holocaust Remembrance Day was Israeli but meant to be shared with the world Jewish community.
Originally, the idea for a Yom HaShoah was proposed as a day to remember the beginning of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising., consistent with Israel’s belief in Jewish self-defense. The Warsaw revolt began on April 19, 1943, which corresponded to the first day of Passover that year. However, mixing Passover and Yom HaShoah clearly was not a good idea, so alternative dates were discussed. Jewish religious traditionalists suggested the 10th of Tevet, the anniversary of the beginning of the siege of Jerusalem in 588 BCE by the Babylonians. The matter was intensely debated and on April 12, 1951, Israel’s Parliament voted to establish Yom HaShoah on 27 Nisan, which is eight days before Israel’s Independence Day.
To a certain extent, the calendrical relationship of Yom HaShoah and Yom HaAtzmaut parallels the proximity of Tisha B’Av, the traditional Jewish day of mourning for the destruction of Jerusalem by the Babylonians and the Romans on the 9th of Av and “Tu B’Av,” the 15th of Av, an ancient Jewish version of Sadie Hawkins Day. Most importantly, remembering the Holocaust on 27 Nisan and celebrating Israel Independence Day on the 5th of Iyar underscores the dramatic role Israel has played in rebuilding the Jewish people since the Shoah.
Fervently Orthodox Jews do not observe Yom HaShoah to this day and only maintain the traditional collective days of mourning in the Jewish community. For German Jews, remembering the first night of Kristallnacht is particularly poignant. Ukrainian Jews mark the anniversary of Babi Yar with special observances as well.
If that is not complicated enough, there are other non-Israeli “Holocaust Days,” most importantly January 27, which marks the liberation of Auschwitz in 1945, and was adopted by the United Nations and over 40 countries, including the UK and Germany, as their official day of remembrance. Regretfully but not unexpectedly, the Muslim Council of Britain (MCB) immediately elected to boycott the official British Holocaust Day and instead called for the establishment of a global Genocide Day.
In Israel, at 10:00 a.m., a siren will sound for two minutes and the entire country will come to a standstill. In Israel and in the Diaspora, including in our own Kehillah, there will be special programs and services. Although there is no standard practice, the public lighting of six candles as well as solitary yellow candles at home, the reading of the names of the perished and the singing of HaTikvah is widely observed. Because Yom HaShoah is not a religious holiday, it is often marked by special services and programs in public space in the United States, including the Rotunda of the Capitol in Washington, D.C.
Remembering the Holocaust is both a theological and a political challenge as the brief history of Yom HaShoah confirms. More importantly, remembering the Holocaust has become a generational problem. Aside from youth choirs who sing at Yom HaShoah events, most of the participants are older individuals and often survivors or the children of survivors. Remembering the Holocaust is essential in Jewish life. We need to find ways of remembering it in all of its fury. Even more, we need to find ways to maintain Judaism in our daily lives where the real challenges of memory and meaning are played out every day. Let us remember. Let us vow never to forget.
Originally, the idea for a Yom HaShoah was proposed as a day to remember the beginning of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising., consistent with Israel’s belief in Jewish self-defense. The Warsaw revolt began on April 19, 1943, which corresponded to the first day of Passover that year. However, mixing Passover and Yom HaShoah clearly was not a good idea, so alternative dates were discussed. Jewish religious traditionalists suggested the 10th of Tevet, the anniversary of the beginning of the siege of Jerusalem in 588 BCE by the Babylonians. The matter was intensely debated and on April 12, 1951, Israel’s Parliament voted to establish Yom HaShoah on 27 Nisan, which is eight days before Israel’s Independence Day.
To a certain extent, the calendrical relationship of Yom HaShoah and Yom HaAtzmaut parallels the proximity of Tisha B’Av, the traditional Jewish day of mourning for the destruction of Jerusalem by the Babylonians and the Romans on the 9th of Av and “Tu B’Av,” the 15th of Av, an ancient Jewish version of Sadie Hawkins Day. Most importantly, remembering the Holocaust on 27 Nisan and celebrating Israel Independence Day on the 5th of Iyar underscores the dramatic role Israel has played in rebuilding the Jewish people since the Shoah.
Fervently Orthodox Jews do not observe Yom HaShoah to this day and only maintain the traditional collective days of mourning in the Jewish community. For German Jews, remembering the first night of Kristallnacht is particularly poignant. Ukrainian Jews mark the anniversary of Babi Yar with special observances as well.
If that is not complicated enough, there are other non-Israeli “Holocaust Days,” most importantly January 27, which marks the liberation of Auschwitz in 1945, and was adopted by the United Nations and over 40 countries, including the UK and Germany, as their official day of remembrance. Regretfully but not unexpectedly, the Muslim Council of Britain (MCB) immediately elected to boycott the official British Holocaust Day and instead called for the establishment of a global Genocide Day.
In Israel, at 10:00 a.m., a siren will sound for two minutes and the entire country will come to a standstill. In Israel and in the Diaspora, including in our own Kehillah, there will be special programs and services. Although there is no standard practice, the public lighting of six candles as well as solitary yellow candles at home, the reading of the names of the perished and the singing of HaTikvah is widely observed. Because Yom HaShoah is not a religious holiday, it is often marked by special services and programs in public space in the United States, including the Rotunda of the Capitol in Washington, D.C.
Remembering the Holocaust is both a theological and a political challenge as the brief history of Yom HaShoah confirms. More importantly, remembering the Holocaust has become a generational problem. Aside from youth choirs who sing at Yom HaShoah events, most of the participants are older individuals and often survivors or the children of survivors. Remembering the Holocaust is essential in Jewish life. We need to find ways of remembering it in all of its fury. Even more, we need to find ways to maintain Judaism in our daily lives where the real challenges of memory and meaning are played out every day. Let us remember. Let us vow never to forget.
Monday, March 29, 2010
pesach
During the course of Passover, in addition to reading the Haggadah, we read the Torah’s account of the final Exodus from Egypt. Stage by stage, plague by plague, our ancestors were liberated from Egypt until, finally, they reached the other side of the sea and began their journey to Mt. Sinai, the setting of this Shabbat’s Torah portion.
When I think of the end of the flight from Egypt, the image of Israel dancing on the shores of the sea comes to mind. Not only, the men, but the women of Israel danced, led by Moses’ sister Miriam. Miriam, too, picked up the timbrel and danced in celebration of Israel’s safe deliverance. Interestingly, the celebration did not last very long. Faced with the prospect of a long uncomfortable journey, the people of Israel quickly returned to their usual complaining. “The food is no good,” “Moses is away too long,” “Moses has too much power,” and on and on it went.
Unfortunately the same pattern of special celebrations followed by the restoration of “the same old, same old” marks many of our lives. We seem to have certain special moments lived above the fray and then long stretches of the “everyday.” Our tradition offers us special reminders of the peak moments to help lift us when our spirits are down. In services, after saying the Sh’ma, we sing the Mi Camocha. The Mi Camocha comes from the section of the Torah which includes the Song of Moses and the Dance of Miriam at the Red Sea. We don’t read this passage from the Torah just once a year but daily and at every Shabbat service. We recall in words and song the defining moment of liberation which shaped us a people.
Gentle remembrances of the sweet and significant moments of our lives are an important part of living. We all have our own special blessings and memories. We can call on them at will for strength, comfort and perspective.
So when Passover is done and the Haggadahs are put away and the family has gone home, we need to remember to keep singing. Every day has a new miracle waiting for us and every day lived has a blessing to recall. Perhaps the perspective from the other side of the sea is to keep rejoicing, keep recalling and, always, to move forward.
When I think of the end of the flight from Egypt, the image of Israel dancing on the shores of the sea comes to mind. Not only, the men, but the women of Israel danced, led by Moses’ sister Miriam. Miriam, too, picked up the timbrel and danced in celebration of Israel’s safe deliverance. Interestingly, the celebration did not last very long. Faced with the prospect of a long uncomfortable journey, the people of Israel quickly returned to their usual complaining. “The food is no good,” “Moses is away too long,” “Moses has too much power,” and on and on it went.
Unfortunately the same pattern of special celebrations followed by the restoration of “the same old, same old” marks many of our lives. We seem to have certain special moments lived above the fray and then long stretches of the “everyday.” Our tradition offers us special reminders of the peak moments to help lift us when our spirits are down. In services, after saying the Sh’ma, we sing the Mi Camocha. The Mi Camocha comes from the section of the Torah which includes the Song of Moses and the Dance of Miriam at the Red Sea. We don’t read this passage from the Torah just once a year but daily and at every Shabbat service. We recall in words and song the defining moment of liberation which shaped us a people.
Gentle remembrances of the sweet and significant moments of our lives are an important part of living. We all have our own special blessings and memories. We can call on them at will for strength, comfort and perspective.
So when Passover is done and the Haggadahs are put away and the family has gone home, we need to remember to keep singing. Every day has a new miracle waiting for us and every day lived has a blessing to recall. Perhaps the perspective from the other side of the sea is to keep rejoicing, keep recalling and, always, to move forward.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Passover thoughts
When we clean and cook for Passover it is a tremendous amount of work! I am sure many of you are hosting large Seders with days of preparation involved! As we enter the holiday of Passover, the most widely observed Jewish holiday, we are reminded why we go through the trouble. We celebrate Passover not only to remember our past but also to act as if we ourselves were freed from Egypt.
In every generation, all are obligated to view themselves as having personally left Egypt, since it is said, "And you shall explain to your child on that day, 'It is because of what Adonai did for me when I went free from Egypt'." Therefore we are obligated to thank, praise...and bless the One who performed all these miracles for our ancestors and for us, for bringing us from slavery to freedom, anguish to joy, mourning to festival, darkness to great light, and subjugation to redemption.
--Mishnah, P'sahim. Also in the Haggadah
We are reminded to look at the world through the eyes of slaves and not as free people. Freedom, with all of its rights and responsibilities, is what we are encouraged to celebrate. It begins simply with the name for "Egypt" in Hebrew, "Mitzrayim," from the Hebrew word "metzar" meaning "narrow" or "constricted.." Egypt was the ultimate place of constriction. No single slave had ever escaped from there, let alone an entire nation of slaves. Once we crossed the Red Sea, we left the narrow places of Egypt and new worlds opened.
When the Torah talks about freedom, it always connects it to a clear idea of the purpose of that freedom. Freedom without a purpose is slavery. Freedom without thinking of others who suffer, we are reminded, is pointless. The Exodus is, religiously speaking, not an event of history, dead and buried. It is now. It is the struggle of Jewish people in the world who are not able to celebrate because of poverty or oppression. It is the story of the people of Darfur who, even as we will celebrate the time of redemption, still only know suffering. It is the stories in recent weeks of those who are suffering from lack of food and resources. Passover is a reminder that we must continue to fight for social justice. As we celebrate, who is not yet able to do the same?
Joining a rich historical awareness to contemporary concerns for freedom and self-expression, enjoying the warmth of people you love while sharing delicious food, this is a time to renew our own commitments--to our own growth, to our relationships, and to our Judaism. As we celebrate our past and our values, I wish you all a joyous and healthy holiday!
In every generation, all are obligated to view themselves as having personally left Egypt, since it is said, "And you shall explain to your child on that day, 'It is because of what Adonai did for me when I went free from Egypt'." Therefore we are obligated to thank, praise...and bless the One who performed all these miracles for our ancestors and for us, for bringing us from slavery to freedom, anguish to joy, mourning to festival, darkness to great light, and subjugation to redemption.
--Mishnah, P'sahim. Also in the Haggadah
We are reminded to look at the world through the eyes of slaves and not as free people. Freedom, with all of its rights and responsibilities, is what we are encouraged to celebrate. It begins simply with the name for "Egypt" in Hebrew, "Mitzrayim," from the Hebrew word "metzar" meaning "narrow" or "constricted.." Egypt was the ultimate place of constriction. No single slave had ever escaped from there, let alone an entire nation of slaves. Once we crossed the Red Sea, we left the narrow places of Egypt and new worlds opened.
When the Torah talks about freedom, it always connects it to a clear idea of the purpose of that freedom. Freedom without a purpose is slavery. Freedom without thinking of others who suffer, we are reminded, is pointless. The Exodus is, religiously speaking, not an event of history, dead and buried. It is now. It is the struggle of Jewish people in the world who are not able to celebrate because of poverty or oppression. It is the story of the people of Darfur who, even as we will celebrate the time of redemption, still only know suffering. It is the stories in recent weeks of those who are suffering from lack of food and resources. Passover is a reminder that we must continue to fight for social justice. As we celebrate, who is not yet able to do the same?
Joining a rich historical awareness to contemporary concerns for freedom and self-expression, enjoying the warmth of people you love while sharing delicious food, this is a time to renew our own commitments--to our own growth, to our relationships, and to our Judaism. As we celebrate our past and our values, I wish you all a joyous and healthy holiday!
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
vayikra
The last lines of the book of Exodus have Moses, Bezalel and the Israelites placing the finishing touches on the Tabernacle. The Tabernacle is, in the final lines of Exodus, enveloped in clouds, with the presence of the Holy One emanating from its center. Moses is prevented from entering because the clouds indicate the Holy One's presence. Then the next book, Leviticus/Vayikra, opens with God's inaugural meeting with Moses.
That is where we begin this week in the book of Leviticus, "And He called to Moses, and God spoke to him from the Tent of Meeting saying..." A calling, what is a call? Perhaps you were called to your work? Maybe calls are what we as Pennsylvania voters are going to be inundated with in the coming weeks. No matter who you want to vote, for we are in for a lot of calls...so if you don't have caller ID, now may be the time!
Leviticus is the book of the Torah with which children begin their studies in the Orthodox community. In the midrash, Rav Assi asks why, in Orthodox tradition, children begin their Bible learning with Leviticus rather than Genesis. And, the text answers, because children are pure and the sacrifices are pure.
Though most Reform religious schools don't start with Leviticus, we might add a few additional explanations. Leviticus emphasizes what we are to offer God. It emphasizes the need to perform concrete, tangible acts of service to God. It holds out the possibility that there are acts which human beings can perform that bring us closer to God and God closer to creation.
While Genesis offers us mostly stories, Leviticus offers us rules for living. Still, we might do worse than learning from Rav Assi. We could do a lot worse than using these months in Leviticus to reexamine and recommit ourselves to the details of Jewish behavioral obligations. Like our children, we best express our "purity" when we learn how to live so as to make our actions an offering, a drawing close to our community and, we hope, to God.
That is where we begin this week in the book of Leviticus, "And He called to Moses, and God spoke to him from the Tent of Meeting saying..." A calling, what is a call? Perhaps you were called to your work? Maybe calls are what we as Pennsylvania voters are going to be inundated with in the coming weeks. No matter who you want to vote, for we are in for a lot of calls...so if you don't have caller ID, now may be the time!
Leviticus is the book of the Torah with which children begin their studies in the Orthodox community. In the midrash, Rav Assi asks why, in Orthodox tradition, children begin their Bible learning with Leviticus rather than Genesis. And, the text answers, because children are pure and the sacrifices are pure.
Though most Reform religious schools don't start with Leviticus, we might add a few additional explanations. Leviticus emphasizes what we are to offer God. It emphasizes the need to perform concrete, tangible acts of service to God. It holds out the possibility that there are acts which human beings can perform that bring us closer to God and God closer to creation.
While Genesis offers us mostly stories, Leviticus offers us rules for living. Still, we might do worse than learning from Rav Assi. We could do a lot worse than using these months in Leviticus to reexamine and recommit ourselves to the details of Jewish behavioral obligations. Like our children, we best express our "purity" when we learn how to live so as to make our actions an offering, a drawing close to our community and, we hope, to God.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Building
Have you ever tried to build anything? It is no easy task!
This week’s double Torah portion, Vayakhel and Pekudei, completes both the Book of Exodus and the building of the Tabernacle in the wilderness. The first commandment concerning the Mishkan appeared earlier in Exodus: “They will make for me a Mikdash (holy sanctuary) and I will dwell among them.” [Exodus 25:8] What follows is a blueprint of the Tabernacle and all of its components. There are precise instructions for everything. in fact five of the eleven Torah portions in Exodus are devoted exclusively to it and to every bit of minutia about its building and materials. Why so much time on this tent of meeting in the wilderness? The Tabernacle formed the center of all Jewish life and activity for the Israelites. As they wandered in the desert it was a home and a comfort.
The Tabernacle was the place where all the religious needs of our ancestors were met. For 40 years as they wandered through the wilderness, it served as the spiritual and cultural center of the nation of Israel. This was no small achievement considering that the people numbered over two million if we add all the numbers up. All of these people were encamped, so to speak, around this Tabernacle as they moved slowly through the wilderness.
Today we have no Tabernacle We no longer bring offerings to God for sacrifice. So what forms the center of our Jewish lives? Where do we nurture our connection to one another and nurture our relationship with God? I believe we accomplish this through our involvement in synagogue life and our Jewish community. Our membership and involvement in a synagogue enable us to nurture our spiritual lives and strengthen our souls.
Judaism teaches, "Do not separate yourself from your community." Being involved, being counted, strengthens us as individuals as it strengthens the communal fabric, and surprisingly will also strengthen the fabric of your being.
Our ancestors brought gifts to God. They brought animal sacrifices. Today we bring our words and our actions as our offerings.
This Sunday I would love for you to join me as we discuss our future adult education program here at the synagogue…I would love your feedback and thoughts. We are meeting at 11am in my office.
This week’s double Torah portion, Vayakhel and Pekudei, completes both the Book of Exodus and the building of the Tabernacle in the wilderness. The first commandment concerning the Mishkan appeared earlier in Exodus: “They will make for me a Mikdash (holy sanctuary) and I will dwell among them.” [Exodus 25:8] What follows is a blueprint of the Tabernacle and all of its components. There are precise instructions for everything. in fact five of the eleven Torah portions in Exodus are devoted exclusively to it and to every bit of minutia about its building and materials. Why so much time on this tent of meeting in the wilderness? The Tabernacle formed the center of all Jewish life and activity for the Israelites. As they wandered in the desert it was a home and a comfort.
The Tabernacle was the place where all the religious needs of our ancestors were met. For 40 years as they wandered through the wilderness, it served as the spiritual and cultural center of the nation of Israel. This was no small achievement considering that the people numbered over two million if we add all the numbers up. All of these people were encamped, so to speak, around this Tabernacle as they moved slowly through the wilderness.
Today we have no Tabernacle We no longer bring offerings to God for sacrifice. So what forms the center of our Jewish lives? Where do we nurture our connection to one another and nurture our relationship with God? I believe we accomplish this through our involvement in synagogue life and our Jewish community. Our membership and involvement in a synagogue enable us to nurture our spiritual lives and strengthen our souls.
Judaism teaches, "Do not separate yourself from your community." Being involved, being counted, strengthens us as individuals as it strengthens the communal fabric, and surprisingly will also strengthen the fabric of your being.
Our ancestors brought gifts to God. They brought animal sacrifices. Today we bring our words and our actions as our offerings.
This Sunday I would love for you to join me as we discuss our future adult education program here at the synagogue…I would love your feedback and thoughts. We are meeting at 11am in my office.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Golden Calf
This week’s Torah portion narrates the incident in the desert of Israel and the Golden Calf. How did human beings who had experienced godly revelation at Sinai revert to worshipping a Golden Calf just a few short weeks later? What happened to "a kingdom of priests and a holy nation" to cause this terrible reversal?
Perhaps an even more difficult question is what was the sin of the Golden Calf? We always assume that the sin was the building of a calf itself. It was a very common practice among peoples of the time to make graven images and our people knew no different. Moses had not yet come down from the mountain to instruct them about God’s commandments. So perhaps the building of the calf was not their sin.
Perhaps their sin was one which we all commit from time to time. They lost faith. And worse, they allowed their fears to overtake them and lead them to rash actions. They did not build the Golden Calf because they no longer believed in Adonai. Rather, they did so because they felt their leader Moses had abandoned them. He had been gone 40 days and nights, and they started to get worried. When they became restless no one stood up and said, “Let’s have faith, let’s remember that Moses will not abandon us. We should not do this.” Rather, mass rejection overtook the camp.
What a powerful lesson for us today. How often do we act hastily because we get nervous and feel alone? How often do those actions, performed with the best intentions, wind up creating even bigger problems?
After Moses finds out about the sin of the Golden Calf he asks God to destroy the people. God does not. Rather God forgives the people. Moses cries out (EXCLAIMS?) that God is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in kindness. This week may we all be reminded of this lesson, to be more like our Creator, slow to anger, patient and forgiving.
Perhaps an even more difficult question is what was the sin of the Golden Calf? We always assume that the sin was the building of a calf itself. It was a very common practice among peoples of the time to make graven images and our people knew no different. Moses had not yet come down from the mountain to instruct them about God’s commandments. So perhaps the building of the calf was not their sin.
Perhaps their sin was one which we all commit from time to time. They lost faith. And worse, they allowed their fears to overtake them and lead them to rash actions. They did not build the Golden Calf because they no longer believed in Adonai. Rather, they did so because they felt their leader Moses had abandoned them. He had been gone 40 days and nights, and they started to get worried. When they became restless no one stood up and said, “Let’s have faith, let’s remember that Moses will not abandon us. We should not do this.” Rather, mass rejection overtook the camp.
What a powerful lesson for us today. How often do we act hastily because we get nervous and feel alone? How often do those actions, performed with the best intentions, wind up creating even bigger problems?
After Moses finds out about the sin of the Golden Calf he asks God to destroy the people. God does not. Rather God forgives the people. Moses cries out (EXCLAIMS?) that God is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in kindness. This week may we all be reminded of this lesson, to be more like our Creator, slow to anger, patient and forgiving.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Does this shirt look ok?
Mark Twain, reflecting 19th century values, once write, “Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society.” It is true we live in a society where people dress informally. I can remember going to the theater with my family as a child. I never would have considered wearing jeans! In this week’s Torah portion we are told of the clothes of the priests: "Then take the vestments, and clothe Aaron with the tunic, the robe of the ephod, the ephod, and the breastpiece, and gird him with the decorated band of the ephod. Put the headdress on his head, and place the holy diadem upon the headdress. Take the anointing oil and pour it on his head and anoint him." (Exodus 29:5-7).
Beauty, ritual and pageantry! Do the clothes make a difference? The ancient priests, the kohanim, were from the House of Aaron, and it is in Tetzaveh, this week’s portion, that we read the commandment to make special sacral vestments (Exodus 28:2-4) for Aaron and his sons Nadab, Abihu, Eleazar and Ithamar. Aaron and his sons are to fulfill the role of priests; their descendants will inherit this role, serving God and the Israelites for all time.
The priesthood was hereditary; if you weren't born into it, you couldn't serve. The special clothing and detailed rituals of anointing and serving in the Temple were passed down from one generation of priests to the next.
The early leaders of Reform Judaism were repulsed by these notions of hereditary leadership. Traditional Judaism still adheres to inherited class divisions among congregants, with special roles and rituals assigned to kohanim and Levites.
One of the first changes the Reformers made to our liturgy was to equalize roles in the service. Any Jew could now have the coveted first aliyah to the Torah, and congregational rabbis, not kohanim, now had the role of blessing the congregation.
Ritual was pared down to a minimum. Following the prophets' call to action, Reform rabbis emphasized social justice rather than ritual observance. How we act in our daily lives toward others became far more important than ancient practices that are no longer relevant.
We are reminded that the clothing of the priests served to separate and cause distinctions, a practice we no longer value in our movement. Certainly proper dress can help you feel good and can add to a special moment. As we study Torah portions in the coming weeks, we will find detailed descriptions regarding the Tabernacle, the Temple, and the priests who served in them. We can appreciate the pageantry and devotion of the ancient Israelites as they endeavored to worship God, just as we continually strive to find meaning through the worship of God in our own synagogues.
Beauty, ritual and pageantry! Do the clothes make a difference? The ancient priests, the kohanim, were from the House of Aaron, and it is in Tetzaveh, this week’s portion, that we read the commandment to make special sacral vestments (Exodus 28:2-4) for Aaron and his sons Nadab, Abihu, Eleazar and Ithamar. Aaron and his sons are to fulfill the role of priests; their descendants will inherit this role, serving God and the Israelites for all time.
The priesthood was hereditary; if you weren't born into it, you couldn't serve. The special clothing and detailed rituals of anointing and serving in the Temple were passed down from one generation of priests to the next.
The early leaders of Reform Judaism were repulsed by these notions of hereditary leadership. Traditional Judaism still adheres to inherited class divisions among congregants, with special roles and rituals assigned to kohanim and Levites.
One of the first changes the Reformers made to our liturgy was to equalize roles in the service. Any Jew could now have the coveted first aliyah to the Torah, and congregational rabbis, not kohanim, now had the role of blessing the congregation.
Ritual was pared down to a minimum. Following the prophets' call to action, Reform rabbis emphasized social justice rather than ritual observance. How we act in our daily lives toward others became far more important than ancient practices that are no longer relevant.
We are reminded that the clothing of the priests served to separate and cause distinctions, a practice we no longer value in our movement. Certainly proper dress can help you feel good and can add to a special moment. As we study Torah portions in the coming weeks, we will find detailed descriptions regarding the Tabernacle, the Temple, and the priests who served in them. We can appreciate the pageantry and devotion of the ancient Israelites as they endeavored to worship God, just as we continually strive to find meaning through the worship of God in our own synagogues.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Adonai spoke to Moses, saying: Tell the Israelite people to bring Me gifts; you shall accept gifts for Me from every person whose heart so moves him. And these are the gifts that you shall accept from them: gold, silver, and copper; blue, purple, and crimson yarns, fine linen, goats' hair; tanned ram skins, dolphin skins, and acacia wood; oil for lighting, spices for the anointing oil and for the aromatic incense; lapis lazuli and other stones for setting, for the ephod and for the breastpiece. And let them make Me a sanctuary that I may dwell among them.
Exodus 25:1-8
The Children of Israel are asked to donate gifts for the building of the Mishkan (Tabernacle) so that God may "dwell among them." The items God seeks are listed in great detail, as each is an important part of the elaborate architectural plans Moses is to follow. It is to be a deliberate process, with each element of the finished Mishkan deemed worthy of the Divine Presence.
The creation of the world is described in 34 verses and takes up more than one chapter of the book of Genesis. Yet the building of the Tabernacle, makes the Creation story seem brief; the passage dedicated to the description of the blueprints alone is nearly three times as long!
Why the painstaking attention to detail? Some commentators suggest that this difference in narrative length reflects the difficulty of the human challenge to build a sanctuary within our own hearts in which God can dwell. Another explanation has to do with the challenge of cooperation: according to the creation story we read, God created the world alone, while the Mishkan was meant to be work completed by many people. A midrash (commentary on the Torah) reminds us of the importance of such cooperation; all must work together on the building of the tabernacle, all must participate in the holy work of creating a dwelling-place for God, in order for our people to merit the receiving of the Torah.
What does this mean for us? The challenges mentioned above are not to be taken lightly. We have two ways in which we must build. The first: within ourselves, we must construct a space for God’s Presence to dwell. The second: outside of ourselves, we must work together to create holy space.
Exodus 25:1-8
The Children of Israel are asked to donate gifts for the building of the Mishkan (Tabernacle) so that God may "dwell among them." The items God seeks are listed in great detail, as each is an important part of the elaborate architectural plans Moses is to follow. It is to be a deliberate process, with each element of the finished Mishkan deemed worthy of the Divine Presence.
The creation of the world is described in 34 verses and takes up more than one chapter of the book of Genesis. Yet the building of the Tabernacle, makes the Creation story seem brief; the passage dedicated to the description of the blueprints alone is nearly three times as long!
Why the painstaking attention to detail? Some commentators suggest that this difference in narrative length reflects the difficulty of the human challenge to build a sanctuary within our own hearts in which God can dwell. Another explanation has to do with the challenge of cooperation: according to the creation story we read, God created the world alone, while the Mishkan was meant to be work completed by many people. A midrash (commentary on the Torah) reminds us of the importance of such cooperation; all must work together on the building of the tabernacle, all must participate in the holy work of creating a dwelling-place for God, in order for our people to merit the receiving of the Torah.
What does this mean for us? The challenges mentioned above are not to be taken lightly. We have two ways in which we must build. The first: within ourselves, we must construct a space for God’s Presence to dwell. The second: outside of ourselves, we must work together to create holy space.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Mt. Sinai: Believe it or not!
Mt. Sinai: Believe it or not!
The week's Torah portion, Yitro, reaches a climax with the central event of our religious mythology, the giving of the law/Torah at Sinai. It is at Sinai that the former slaves finally bind themselves to God as a people. At Sinai the nation/people of Israel is born.
At this point I must confess to you that I am not concerned with Sinai as a historical event. What concerns me is not the facts of these mythic narratives, but rather, the truths of them. I care what message the tale is meant to teach. I care what ethics, values and beliefs underlie the story, and not whether or not a mountain named Sinai ever existed. As my teacher Rabbi Lawrence Kushner says, “The Torah is not real because it happened, it’s real because it happens.”
So what is the value of Sinai? Tradition says that we all stood together at Mount Sinai at that fateful moment when God interacted with the world in a way that changed the course of Jewish and human history forever. The wording suggests that the Torah is not referring to an event that happened only once, but rather to an ongoing or recurring event. This sense of timelessness is also alluded to in the blessing before the Torah reading, when we say "that has given (natan) us Torah. . ." and then again ". . .that gives (notain) Torah." Traditionally this teaches the timeless nature of the covenantal moment, which includes all who come to stand at Sinai, in every generation. It is our task as a community to study Torah and find ways to bring Torah into our own lives with our actions and deeds. This is what it means to be part of a Jewish community and what it means to stand at Sinai.
The week's Torah portion, Yitro, reaches a climax with the central event of our religious mythology, the giving of the law/Torah at Sinai. It is at Sinai that the former slaves finally bind themselves to God as a people. At Sinai the nation/people of Israel is born.
At this point I must confess to you that I am not concerned with Sinai as a historical event. What concerns me is not the facts of these mythic narratives, but rather, the truths of them. I care what message the tale is meant to teach. I care what ethics, values and beliefs underlie the story, and not whether or not a mountain named Sinai ever existed. As my teacher Rabbi Lawrence Kushner says, “The Torah is not real because it happened, it’s real because it happens.”
So what is the value of Sinai? Tradition says that we all stood together at Mount Sinai at that fateful moment when God interacted with the world in a way that changed the course of Jewish and human history forever. The wording suggests that the Torah is not referring to an event that happened only once, but rather to an ongoing or recurring event. This sense of timelessness is also alluded to in the blessing before the Torah reading, when we say "that has given (natan) us Torah. . ." and then again ". . .that gives (notain) Torah." Traditionally this teaches the timeless nature of the covenantal moment, which includes all who come to stand at Sinai, in every generation. It is our task as a community to study Torah and find ways to bring Torah into our own lives with our actions and deeds. This is what it means to be part of a Jewish community and what it means to stand at Sinai.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
“There is nothing new under the sun!”
Ecclesiastes 1:9
These famous Jewish words often ring in my ears. How true that we think we are being creative only to repeat something that has already been tried. When it comes to taking care of the environment, we are certainly not the first to say we care. It is really an ancient Jewish ideal.
“When God created the first human beings, the Lord led them around the Garden of Eden and said, "Look at My works! See how beautiful they are! I created them for your sake. See to it that you do not spoil and destroy my world – for if you do, there will be no one else to repair it.”
Midrash Ecclesiastes Rabbah 7:29
Judaism teaches that although it was created for our sake, the world does not belong to us. It is God's. We have it on loan. And it is up to us to pass it down, unspoiled and intact, to the next generation. We have the power to take care of our garden.
And yet, we see all around us that we have violated this part of our covenant, and in the process, lost part of our purpose. Why now do I focus on this issue? As the earth is literally beginning the process of waking from winter, we prepare for spring. We don't see it yet but life is starting to return – buds getting ready to form, and seeds stirring. We celebrate in the Jewish calendar with Tu BiShvat, the New Year of the Trees.
The first Mishna in the tractate of Rosh HaShanah tells us that there are four "new years." One for trees, one for tithes of animals, one for kings, and the new year celebration of years. If it sounds complicated, just think about how we mark our own year: taxes, school, summer, semester and so on.
The Kabbalists of the 16th century marked the turn of the seasons with a special seder for Tu BiShvat. This Friday durign Shabbat services we will do the same, and celebrate a Tu Bishvat seder together as a congregation. We hope that you will join us!
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Tefillin Drama
First, here is the story...(after some thoughts)
Plane diverted over tefillin
January 21, 2010
(JTA) -- A commercial flight was diverted to Philadelphia after a Jewish passenger's tefillin were mistaken for a bomb.
A passenger on the US Air flight Thursday from New York to Louisville mistook the religious prayer article as a bomb after the Jewish passenger had taken them out to pray, according to reports.
Tefillin consist of two boxes each on a strap of leather.
The passengers and crew were taken off the plane in Philadelphia. Fire trucks and police met the plane on the runway.
The Jewish passenger, reportedly 17, was questioned and released. No one was arrested in the incident.
So what is Tefilin?
Tefillin, (Hebrew: תפילין), are a set of small cubic leather boxes painted black, containing scrolls of parchment inscribed with verses from the Bible, with leather straps dyed black on one side, and worn during weekday morning prayers. The hand-tefillin, or shel yad, is placed on the upper arm, and the strap wrapped around the arm, hand and fingers; while the head-tefillin, or shel rosh, is placed above the forehead, with the strap going around the head and over the shoulders. The Torah commands that they should be worn to serve as a "sign" and "remembrance" that God brought the children of Israel out of Egypt.
I understand that not everyone has seen these "odd" little boxes. I get ho wforeign it may be. We need to ask ourselves have we lost our minds?
The source texts for tefillin in the Torah are obscure in literal meaning. For example, the following verse from the Shema states: "And you shall bind them as a sign upon your arm, and they shall be as totafot between your eyes."
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Miracles
In this weeks Torah portion Bo, we continue the story of Moses' struggle against Pharaoh, with the final three plagues: Locusts, Darkness, and the Slaying of the First Born. With this ultimate plague, the Jewish people are finally released from Egypt.
This incredible moment from Egypt forms the root of Jewish identity. Most Jewish holidays directly or indirectly commemorate it and it is mentioned daily in Jewish prayer. Indeed, God will subsequently identify himself not as the creator of heaven and earth, but as the Lord, your God, who delivered you from Egypt. We are taught by the Hassidic commentators that we don't have miracles like the parting of the Red Sea or the Exodus in our time. Our role they teach us, is to seek ways to create our own miracles by the good we do in the world. I couldn't help this week but draw a strong connection to what we are witnessing in Haiti.
Even with the problems the response and outpouring has been amazing. I must admit I have a great deal of pride especially for Israel. The other day I watched Dr. Jennifer Furin, of Harvard Medical School, as she stood in desperation and frustration over a dying patient interviewed on CNN. The man had survived the earthquake only to die from infection in an ill-equipped hospital.
“I’ve been here since Thursday,” Furin said. “No one but the Israelis has taken any of our patients.”
Two jumbo jets carrying more than 220 doctors, nurses, civil engineers, and other Israeli army personnel, including a rescue team and field hospital, were among the first rescue teams to arrive in Haiti. In fact, they were the first foreign backup team to set up medical treatment at the partially collapsed main hospital in Port-au-Prince. When others feared their saftey and felt hte need to stay the Israeli team remained.
“Our medical aid delegation to Haiti expresses the true heritage of the State of Israel and the Jewish People,” said Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. “This act joins similar action we have taken in the past in Mexico, Kenya and Turkey. We may be a small country, but we are a country with a big heart. This is the expression of Jewish ethics and heritage – to help others.”
Critics are already saying Israel is just trying to fix its world image. It doesn't matter what others may say it matters instead what we accomplish and do.
In the midst of the tragedy and chaos in the Haitian capital, Israeli doctors, delivered a healthy baby boy in an IDF field hospital. When the baby's grateful mother, saw her newborn son, alive and well, she named him Israel in gratitude to the people and nation who brought her true miracle.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
This weekend we mark Martin Luther King, Jr. Day one of only four federal holidays that commemorate an individual person. The day signed into law not that many years ago has quickly evolved into a day of national service. The photograph displayed is of Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel walking arm in arm with Martin Luther King, Jr., in the front row of marchers in Selma Alabama. It has become an icon of American Jewish life, and of Black-Jewish relations. The relationship between the two men began in January 1963, and was a genuine friendship as well as a relationship of two colleagues working together for Social Justice on a number of causes.
On March 25th 1968, just ten days before he was assassinated, King delivered the keynote address at a birthday celebration honoring Heschel. In his introduction of King to the audience, Heschel asked, "Where in America today do we hear a voice like the voice of the prophets of Israel? Martin Luther King is a sign that God has not forsaken the United States of America. God has sent him to us. His presence is the hope of America. His mission is sacred, his leadership of supreme importance to every one of us."
Shortly after returning from the march in Selma, Heschel wrote to King: "The day we marched together out of Selma was a day of sanctification. That day I hope will never be past to me - that day will continue to be this day...."
For Heschel, the march had spiritual significance. He wrote, "For many of us the march from Selma to Montgomery was about protest and prayer. Legs are not lips and walking is not kneeling. And yet our legs uttered songs. Even without words, our march was worship. I felt my legs were praying."
Like many I am inspired by Heschel's words and use them to define what I feel is the essence of Judaism. We are a people of the book and at the same time strive to make a difference in the world around us. How can we change the world for the better? Judaism is not simply about the words that we find on the pages of our Prayer book or in our Torah but about transforming our ideals into action. On this weekend of service in memory of Martin Luther King Jr. let us find a way to move our legs toward action.
On this shabbat we pray for the victims of the earthquake in Haiti. We are in the process of starting a fundraising effort for the victims and I will post more information later today.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Shemot: The Narrow Places
Shemot: The Narrow Places
In Genesis, the first book of the Torah, many who will shape our Jewish identity are in place: Abraham, Sarah, Ishmael, Isaac, Esau, Jacob, Joseph and his brothers.
This week we read from the beginning of the second Book of the Torah, Exodus. Though it begins with enslavement and 200 plus years of terrible oppression by the Egyptians, our Sages somewhat shockingly called Exodus the “Book of Redemption,” the book “in which Israel goes from darkness to light.” After the deep exile in Egypt, the following chapters of Exodus relate the account of the redemption of the Jewish people.
With Exodus, life begins in the real world, and the past planted by our matriarchs and patriarchs begin to grow. The tools we inherit from them give us the power to be freed from oppression (Exodus). We are taught that the Exodus from Egypt symbolically opened the doors of freedom for all time. It empowered us with the ability to transcend our limits and constraints. The message is appropriate today more than ever.
We all deal with Mitzrayim (Egypt), or narrow places, in our own lives of struggle and challenge. As we face the mitzrayim in our lives today we can easily succumb to the notion that life is just too overwhelming. We can feel powerless amidst all the intense events happening around us.
The Exodus story reminds us that we can free ourselves from all forms of mitzrayim, every type of oppression, including the difficult events of our time. Just as we were freed then, we are promised through our covenant that we can be freed today.
But of course we struggle! Even when we eventually find freedom, we struggle as our people did in the wilderness! This week we are reminded that freedom from our narrow places is in our grasp. We just need to remember to reach!
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