Rabbi's Study Archive
Here is where you will find archived comments on Torah Readings from Rabbi Roth.
Which Comes First? Saying a Blessing or Studying Torah? – And Why Does It Matter?
There are only two blessings that are directly derived from the Torah itself, and both are in this week’s portion. They are the Birkat Hamazon, the blessing after eating and the blessing that is said before learning Torah. The first chief Rabbi of the land of Israel in modern times, Rav Kook, asked a simple question about these blessings. Why do we say the Birkat Hamazon after eating but the blessing for study Torah before we begin to learn? Rav Kook says that eating brings us two types of enjoyment – the taste of the food as we consume it and the sustenance for our bodies as it is digested. Since the main purpose of eating is for sustenance we recite the blessing as the body absorbs the food. The study of Torah can also bring us two benefits – practical knowledge of how to live our lives, but also the words of Torah elevate our spirits and turn us to God. To Rav Kook “when we bless God before studying, we acknowledge the spiritual elevation that we enjoy in the very act of contemplating God’s Torah.” That is more important than the practical knowledge we gain from our study as it affects our behavior following our learning. Blessing God after we study would have emphasized these practical benefits as our primary goal. This all may seem technical and arcane but it reminds us that when we speak of the Jewish value of study, we are not talking about college degrees and practical knowledge of how to earn a living, even though the Rabbis made it clear that parents are obligated to teach their children how to become economically self reliant. Rather the value of Torah study is to elevate our spirits and, while it won’t help us increase our bank accounts, we hope it will bring us fulfillment and uplift. Especially now in these economically difficult times I hope we can study more Torah. It costs nothing and enriches our lives.
Idolatry Is Still An Issue, Even Without Wooden or Stone Statues
What does the Torah mean when it prohibits idolatry? We read (Deuteronomy 5:8) “You shall not make for yourself a sculptured image or any likeness of what is in the heavens above or on the earth below.” The Torah goes on to specify that one must not make, “…a sculptured image in any likeness whatever; the form of a man or a woman, the form of any beast on earth…” We are familiar with the images of idols from the ancient world. I recall purchasing a booklet with photos of such gods and goddesses based on the cylindrical seals that were used in the ancient near east. I wanted to see what the gods of the time of Abraham actually looked like. These are the images that the Torah warns us against worshipping. However, we would not fully understand the prohibition of idolatry if we simply said that we are not likely to venerate such gods today. Idolatry can be more common now than in the past. One modern has warned us that this prohibition should be understood as a warning. “You shall not make yourself into an idol and come to believe that you are God.” Do we worship ourselves? I have also read a simpler definition of idolatry. It is making into the ultimate what is not really Ultimate. Fame, money, and status are more easily revered today than metal or clay figurines. We should ask ourselves, what are the definitive values in our lives? Is it the real God or something else? That would be a better test of idolatry than looking for images of wood and stone.
Even Moses Had Difficulty Dealing With Change
The following is a comment by Rabbi Mordecai Leiner of Ishbitz, in his work Mei Hashiloach, (a Hasidic commentary on the Torah from the mid 19th century). When the Israelites were about to enter the land of Israel, Moses realized that his assistant, Joshua, would be put in charge of the ensuing conquest. Moses wanted the people to pray to God that they didn’t desire any leader other than Moses. He hinted at this to them when he said, “I can’t bear the burden of you by myself!” (Deuteronomy 1:9) (That is I am going to need others to assist me when I take you into the land and that task is my obligation.) This may expresses Moses’ real concerns at the beginning of the book of Deuteronomy. He is struggling with letting go of his role as leader. He is also pondering how others may fulfill his goals. Making transitions can be painful and difficult. This time of year often brings changes in our professional and/or personal lives. Some may be starting a new job, others may be nearing retirement. Our children may be moving on to college, or to different places, perhaps far from home, for career opportunities. Finally on the coming High Holidays, we all pray that we make a personal transition to a purer, better self. Change can be frightening as well as liberating. Even Moses feared it. Eventually Moses accepts that the Israelites will enter the land of Israel without him. He acknowledges the inevitability of change and has faith that while he won’t physically lead the people, his values will propel them to a glorious future. He has fulfilled his role. What changes are on the horizon in your life? I hope that we can face them in a similar way, with acceptance, and with faith in the future.
How Do We Measure How “Religious” A Person Is?
At the end of this week’s Haftorah the prophet Micah proclaims a message that has often been seen as a summary of all Biblical teachings, “He [God] has told you, O, Man, what is good, and what the Lord requires of you: Only to do justice and to love goodness and to walk modestly with your God.” (Micah 6:8). These words remind us that being a “religious person” is not just a matter of ritual observance. Micah and other prophets do not deny the need for religious practice, but they remind us that rituals have meaning only in the context of how we live our lives. He stresses honesty and righteousness. What does it mean to “…walk humbly with your God.”? One early Biblical translation sees in these words a suggestion that one must conduct oneself with a consciousness that God is aware of all of our actions. Rashi finds in them a willingness to forgive others. The Talmud interprets those words to mean that we should help needy brides and comfort mourners. Micah reminds us that we should not measure how “religious” people are solely by the number of ritual mitzvot they obey but also by whether or not they live a life of personal integrity and care for those around them.
Aren’t We All Created Equal? - Yes and No
Korach, at the beginning of his rebellion against the leadership of Moses and Aaron claims “…all the community are holy, all of them...Why do you raise yourselves above the Lord’s congregation?” (Numbers 16:3) What is wrong with that argument? Isn’t he just advocating the democratic ideal? We believe in the equal value of all people. The flaw is that Korach was not saying that people have equal rights, but he claimed that all people had equal talents, skills and abilities. He wanted to remove what distinguishes one person from another. He denied the unique skills of Moses and Aaron. In the short story Harrison Bergeron by Kurt Vonnegut, set in the future, those who run too fast are burdened by heavy weights. Those with an exceptional ability to concentrate and utilize their intellectual gifts have to contend with frequent ear piercing blasts of sound. All talented people are forced to revert to the norm. Diversity, distinction and different degrees of God given talents are obliterated in such a world. A midrash points out, “…just as God distinguished the light from the darkness [during Creation] in order that it might be of service to the world, so God made Israel distinct from other nations…and in the same manner distinguished Aaron (and Moses).” What unique talents do you possess? One commentator points out that if you do not bring your abilities to fruition, what purpose was there for God creating you? The rebellion of Korach fails, and it is a reminder for us to seek and utilize our own precious and distinctive gifts for the betterment of the world.
This week the Israelites rebel against God. They want to return to Egypt, after hearing a report from their own leaders who defame the Land of Israel. Moses pleads to God for patience and not to punish his people. He says, “The Lord! Slow to anger…” (Numbers 14:18) According to a Midrash, when Moses received the Torah he found God literally writing these words in the Torah, “God is patient.” Moses said to God, “You mean God is patient only with good people, right?” God answered, “No, I am patient even with evil people.” Moses said, “But evil people deserve to die!” God said, “Be quiet!” Later when the Israelites sinned with the Golden Calf and now when they want to go back to Egypt, Moses prays on their behalf. He calls God, “Slow to anger.” According to the Midrash, God then challenged Moses “Didn’t you say those words should only apply to good people?” Moses reminded God, “And didn’t You say that those words apply to evil people?” This Midrash teaches us that we must be patient even with people who make us very angry. I try to recall these words especially when I am calling customer service on an 800 number. Recently I was able to correct an error on an account after several calls and many minutes on hold. All I wanted to hear was someone saying to me, “We made a mistake.” That did not happen and I started to get angry. Next time I hope I can recall this Midrash and remain calmer.
Aaron, the High Priest, is told by God, “When you go to light the lamps [on the menorah in the Tabernacle] let the seven lamps give light…And Aaron did so…as the Lord commanded Moses.” (Numbers 8:2-23) Several comments note the redundancy in those verses. Since “Aaron did so” why also tell us, “as the Lord commanded?” One of those phrases would have sufficed to say that Aaron followed the word of God. Rashi, the classic Biblical scholar says that those words were meant to praise Aaron, since each time he followed this commandment, he did it in the same proper manner. Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Kotzk comments that Aaron followed that mitzvah for thirty nine years and never changed the way he observed it. It did not become an unpleasant task, or a routine chore. He found the ability to do it over and over again with passion and excitement just as he did it the first time. That is great praise indeed, especially when we think of the many religious observances of Jewish life. Those that occur infrequently are easy to anticipate and do with singular devotion such as the Passover Seder, Chanukah Menorah or Succot. Daily prayers are more difficult to recite with the proper intention every day. I have no easy answer to that problem. I recall a saying (I don’t remember who said it) that if you are looking for a Rabbi to study with, ask him how he keeps his mind from wandering during the daily prayers, when he says the same words each day. If he tells you that he does not suffer from distractions when he prays, you should seek another Rabbi. Or we can think about the answer of Rabbi Zalman Schachter-Shalomi who once wrote about how we can recite repetitive phrases in our prayers. He asked, “How many times can you tell your spouse that you love him/her? Only as many times as you mean it.” Aaron lit the Menorah by meaning to serve God fully every day. Would that we were able to follow his example.
It Sounds A Little Like Zen – but It’s Jewish
Can you bend down and stretch out at the same time? A commentator points out that we do both during one of our prayers when we say the word “baruch - blessed” in the phrase “Blessed are You, Lord, Our God…” That happens in the first blessings of the amidah. It ties into this week’s Torah portion because there we read that the Priests, the Cohanim, blessed our people in ancient times also using a form of the Hebrew word baruch and stretched out their arms.
Arthur Green in his book These Are the Words: A Vocabulary of Jewish Spiritual Life notes that the word for blessing in Hebrew is related to the Hebrew term for “knee – berekh.” Dr. Green says that a blessing is bestowing something to another. When we are blessing God, “…wouldn’t we want to stretch forth and reach toward the heavens? [and not bend down] Right here lies the mystery of faith: It is in submission that we stretch forth: in bending our knees we reach out to God.” (p. 79) That statement sounds like a Zen koan, a contradiction in terms that may help focus our mind. Perhaps bending down and reaching out simultaneously reminds us that stretching out to God begins when we are able to move inward and contact our true selves. We bend the knee, to symbolically seek our inner essence. It helps us to discern who we are, and what gifts are ours alone. Then we are more able to reach out to God and use our gifts to serve God and others. If we could do that, then we would truly be blessed, even if physically it is impossible to stretch out and bend down at the same time.
Cheese Cake and the Messiah On Shavuot
Why do we eat dairy foods on Shavuot? I once created a study sheet with a dozen responses to that query. It seems, however, that the number of answers to such questions in Judaism is usually inversely proportional to our surety that there is one correct rationale. Here are three possibilities. First here is a simple one. The Torah is compared to milk and honey, “Like honey and milk [the Torah] lies under your tongue. (Songs of Songs 4:11 quoted in the Mishneh Berurah). Therefore we should consume milk products to celebrate the giving of the Torah that nourishes us. There is the practical answer. The Israelites had just received the Torah at Mount Sinai on Shavuot. They realized that preparing kosher meat would take a great deal of time, slaughtering an animal, removing the blood, rinsing the meat, salting it, etc. This was in the days before you could just go to Harold’s! So they ate dairy foods and we should do so as well. An answer that I prefer is brought by Rabbi Irving Greenberg. He points out that this custom may be a reference to Messianic times. “The prophet [Isaiah] predicts that even the carnivorous animals will turn vegetarian (in Messianic times, “…the lion, like the ox shall eat straw”); hence follows the anticipatory meal of Shavuot (The Jewish Way p. 85) Having our cheesecake and eating it too, on Shavuot may be a simple way to recall that our Torah nurtures us, or as a reminder that preparing kosher meat is not easy, but it can also raise our vision to the expectation of a time of universal peace, a worthy image, in these difficult times.
Do You Want to Know “What You are doing right now”?
At the beginning of the Book of Numbers a census is taken, “Moses counted them according to the word of the Lord, as He commanded him.” (3:16) According to the midrash Moses asked God how it was possible to count the Levites without entering their private tents and seeing how many infants there were in each family. Moses did not want to invade their privacy. God told Moses not to worry, and as Moses walked in front of each tent, a Divine voice announced the number of people who lived in the tent. Rabbi Chaim Shmuelevitz used this comment to emphasize the importance of derech eretrz, proper manners. (Quoted in Growth Through Torah p. by Rabbi Zelig Pliskin p. 310) Although Moses was commanded by God to count the people he did not want to invade their personal space. God created a supernatural way to accomplish the counting, respecting their privacy. How important do we consider privacy today? I recently joined the social networking internet site Facebook. I have used it to post some photos and catch up with old and new friends. I have not thought of posting “what I am doing now.” I care about my friends but I am not sure I need to know about their minute by minute activities and private thoughts. Some matters are best left personal. We hear of teenagers’ sextexting, sending out details and photos of their private lives that can haunt and hurt them. We can read gossip about the intimate details of public figures in the press. We don’t live in tents but we still need to respect the privacy of others and guard our own.
Living in Uncertain Times
This week’s Torah reading reminds us that we count the days at this time of year from Passover, commemorating our freedom from Egypt, to our next holiday, Shavuot, the time of the giving of the Torah. During these forty nine days we say a blessing and announce the number of days that have passed, a total of forty nine, and then on the fiftieth day we celebrate Shavuot. One commentary (Rabbi Isaac Klein, A Guide to Jewish Religious Practice p. 142) reminds us that, “The fruits of the fields ripen during [this time] and it is therefore, a period of uncertainty - of hope and prayer that our physical sustenance will be continued in abundance.” There were no fruits and vegetables flown in to the Fairway from New Zealand in those days, so ones nourishment depended on the size of the local harvest. Today at worst, a poor crop in one part of the world will raise the prices of our food but it does not cause deprivation. Still I find the words of Rabbi Klein particularly striking this year. We all feel the effects of the current recession. For some of us it has meant great economic hardship, perhaps the loss of a job and/or the loss of a home. For many of us it means cutbacks and insecurity. Unlike in ancient times, we do not know how many days this period of uncertainty will last. But even if we feel unsure, I hope we have faith to know that just as our current counting is limited and will end, so too will these hard times be finite. In the meantime can we find even more meaning in what does not vary with the harvest or the Dow Jones Industrial Average: our families, our faith, our ability to do mitzvot and especially our capacity to help those in need. Those matters, although they are not quantifiable, can increase our satisfaction with life, just as we increase the number of days that we count.
One of the most celebrated verses in the Torah is often quoted out of context. This week we read the well known words, “Love your neighbor as yourself.” (Leviticus 19:8). This simple command is a bit more complex than it seems. Can I or should I really care about others as much as I care about myself? Exactly who is “my neighbor”? Not to mention a question about emotion; can the Torah command love? Leaving those issues aside is the issue of the context of that statement. The entire verse reads (in the new Jewish Publication Society translation), “You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against your countryman. Love your fellow as yourself: I am the Lord.” Why does the Torah add “I am the Lord”? Should I or could I love my fellow human being whether or not God is the Lord? The Torah reminds us of the connection between the ethical (not bearing a grudge; loving my neighbor) and the spiritual (I am the Lord). The verse and this entire section of Leviticus called the Holiness Code reminds us that there is a bond between the two. Yes there are people who are ethical and not spiritual and the opposite is also true. However, the Torah emphasizes the deep association between ethics and the spirit. Together they add meaning to our lives. Let us ponder what the Torah is telling us, that the distinction between how we treat others and how we relate to the Infinite is not that discrete.
According to the Torah, in ancient times, a strange skin syndrome existed called tzara-at. It does not correspond to any known illness, nor was it leprosy as it is often mistranslated. This disease rendered those afflicted with it ritually impure and unable to enter the Temple in Jerusalem until it disappeared. At that time, “…the priest shall offer the burnt offering and the meal offering for [the one afflicted]. Then he shall be pure… [and allowed entry again into holy space – the Temple of ancient times]. (Lev. 14:20) We are not sure what caused this condition or why it would disappear. When a person suspected that he or she was afflicted, he or she would go to a Cohen for a diagnosis. About this Rabbi Meir says, “An initial inspection of [these skin] symptoms may be made during the festival week for the priest to make a lenient pronouncement on the findings, but not to make a severe pronouncement…” (Talmud Moed Katan 1:5) This may all sound arcane and obscure, but Rabbi Meir teaches us a lesson about modern synagogue life. He insists on a leniency in a very important arena of ancient Jewish life, ritual purity. Why? He knew that allowing all Jews access to communal worship was a paramount concern, especially at the times of a festival. This is a question we should be asking our congregation as well – are we as open as we can be? Who might feel excluded from our synagogue? Could we make a list of such people? Often it is easy to discuss programs and projects based on our own understanding of our current membership, but do we also think of those who might feel excluded and how we might also bring them into our community? I like to think that Rabbi Meir would approve of that discussion.
There are many rationales that have been given for the observance of the dietary laws, a main topic in this week’s Torah portion. Those laws are not about health. If they were, they would be obsolete. They have no justification in the Torah itself beyond the fact that they make us holy. Some have simply said we follow them because God commands us. There are those who see in kashrut ways to revere animal life and/or create patterns that foster group identity. I recall when I read about one reason I was initially unimpressed. Do I believe that kashrut teaches discipline, forcing us to restrain our appetites? I am more motivated to think about kashrut and holiness. Yet I once heard the well known author, Joseph Telushkin, speak (after sitting next to him at a kosher dinner!). He remarked that he loved sweets. However, if all chocolate manufacturers decided to put a little bit of lard in every candy bar, he would stop immediately eating them. That is restraint with a capital “R”! Our society has not promoted discipline in many areas including money, alcohol, food, and acquisitiveness. Keeping kosher could help us recall that there are times to say no and that there are limits to our appetites. Especially in these trying economic times, we can, I hope, be able not only to separate meat from milk, but to have the discipline to separate what we really need from what we think we need. In that path there can be holiness and an appreciation of what is most valued for our souls, and not what is most precious in the marketplace.
The Passover Seder recounts the passage of our ancestors from slavery to freedom. That is a seemingly simply statement. Defining precisely the meaning of freedom and slavery is more complicated. Was Janis Joplin correct when she sang, “Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose.”? Here are several other definitions of freedom taken from one of my favorite haggadot, A Night To Remember, The Haggadah of Contemporary Voices by Mishel Zion and Noam Zion. At your Seder you could ask the participants which definition they prefer and why.
No man can put a chain about the ankle of his fellow man without at last finding the other end fastened about his own neck, (Frederick Douglas) We have confused free with the “free and easy.” (Adlai Stevenson) Liberty means responsibility. That is why most men dread it. (George Bernard Shaw), It is often safer to be in chains than to be free (Franz Kafka). No human being is free who is not master of himself. (Epicetitus – Greek philosopher 1st century C.E.)
If I had to choose, I would prefer the words of Epicetitus. That quote reminds us that freedom is not just a political reality. While I don’t want to minimize the urgency for all people to have political freedom, I like the way the quote causes us to look inside our selves to understand how free or enslaved we are. What binds our souls and prevents us from being free? Are we addicted to a chemical substance, pride, power, wealth, approval or some other unhealthy desire? That I hope can be part of your Passover discussions and add to your seder.
Rhonda and I wish all of you a chag kasher v’sameah a wonderful holiday.
Why is hametz, leavening, forbidden one week a year, and acceptable on the other fifty one weeks? Some Rabbis compare hametz to the yetzer ha-ra, the inclination to do evil. That is part of everyone’s spiritual make up and is the force is part of a complex series of urges and natural desires, such as the drive for money or sex. The yetzer ha-tov, the inclination to do well, is its opposite and holds it in check. According to a Rabbinic midrash, one day the Rabbis were able to put a chain around the yetzer ha-ra and prevent it from having any power. As a result, no one went to work or built a house. The Rabbis then unchained that inclination, realizing that we all need to have a proper amount of concern for ourselves for the world to operate. The problem is, and we are witnessing that today, when selfishness overcomes our better inclinations our entire society suffers. Too much leavening can spoil bread. Too much hametz, or the yetzer ha-ra, can spoil our souls. As we prepare for Passover we can ask ourselves how much we are prepared to balance our own needs and the needs of others in our community. Or as Hillel said, “If I am not for myself, who will be for me, and if I am only for myself, what am I? And if not now when?” Perkei Avot 1:14).
The book of Leviticus begins directly with the words, “And the Lord called to Moses and spoke to him out of the tent of meeting.” (Leviticus 1:1). We often wonder why, since the time of the Bible, God has not spoken so directly to anyone. I read the following metaphor about God’s words in a number of places and it helps me to think about that question. Rabbi Pinchas Peli notes that the air around us is filled with radio waves carrying beautiful music. We could not hear them were it not for the radio. We touch the right button and music fills the air. If the radio is strong and its antenna is attuned properly, the sounds are clear and loud. People are like radios. Some have better spiritual antennae than others. Some people, tune to the right “station” and hear the voice of God calling to them. There are those whose radios are permanently off and hear no music. Some misunderstand the static between the stations as a true religious message and do horrible things in the name of religion. There were no radios in ancient times, but then as now, we know that to be sensitive to a message one must be tuned in and listening.
The stone tablets with the Ten Commandments engraved on them were placed within the Ark, inside the Tabernacle. On top of the Ark were two cheruvim, cherubim. These were creatures with human, animal and birdlike features. They had wings outstretched in an upward direction. According to the Torah, “They faced each other…” (Exodus 37:10). It was thought that God’s voice issued from the space between these two creatures. There is an illustration of what they may have looked like in the Etz Hayim Chumash on page 1521. One question we can ask is, why are they facing each other? One could argue that facing away from the Ark would be a symbol of the way that the teachings of the Torah go out from one central place to the entire world. One of my colleagues, Rabbi Michael Gold, suggests that “If we are to meet God anywhere it is where human beings meet face to face.” It is a reminder that we should seek to be truly present when we communicate with others. Do we really look at the face of a person speaking to us and try to be certain that we understand what they are saying? Does this interpretation suggest that while technology is a great gift, meeting face to screen is not ideal? Should we limit the time we face a screen and increase the time we are “face to face.” Will we then find more times when we can sense God’s presence? Those two unusual creatures on the Ark, ask us not only to imagine how and where God spoke in ancient times, but how we communicate today.
A verse in this week’s portion speaks about the two stone tablets that Moses brought down from Mount Sinai, “The tablets were God’s work, and the writing was God’s writing, incised upon the tablets.” (Exodus 32:16) In the Midrash, a Rabbi in a creative act of interpretation and a bit of fanciful word play substitutes one word for another that sounds like it. He says that “incised (Hebrew harut), can be read as freedom (Hebrew herut).” Rabbi Joshua ben Levi says that we should read the verse to mean that [freedom was on the tablets] and the only truly free person is one who is busy with Torah. (The Ethics of the Fathers 6:2) His interpretation seems counter intuitive and that is why I suppose it appeals to me. Some might say that a person who acts in accordance with the Torah is not free. She is restricting what she does based on the mitzvot. In truth the mitzvot curb our actions, with rules about our behavior from how we spend our money (giving to tzedakah), to how we spend our time (observing holidays and Shabbat and taking time to study Torah). We are restricted in what we eat (kashrut) and even what we say (no gossip!). Yet Rabbi Joshua is revealing a deep truth. A musician or an athlete is only free to fulfill her dreams after long hours of disciplined practice. What we accept in those fields is also true for our souls. They can only seek to be perfected, through training and restraint.
This week’s Torah portion describes the various unique items of clothing worn by the High Priest, and the ordinary priests when they carried out their special roles at first in the Tabernacle and later in the Temple in Jerusalem. We can ask why the Torah is so concerned with objects of clothing and many scholars seek answers to that question. Nahum Sarna says that the priests wore these garments because they were “set apart from the rest of the people by dedication to the service of God, by their consecration to a distinctive way of life.” The clothing called attention to their special role. Maimonides points out that ordinary people will be more respectful and listen to a person if that person is dressed in a glorified manner. Others see in each garment symbols, such as carrying the name of the twelve tribes as a reminder to a leader to never forget the burden of the needs of those they lead. (Pinchas Peli). Recently I have advocated “informal attire” for our special “Shabbat in the Round” services. Many people told me that they prefer dressing casually. Last Friday night, I did not even wear a tie or a jacket! I know that special clothing adds to the sense that Shabbat is set apart in many ways from the rest of the week, but informal clothing for services helps many people to feel more at ease. So when we celebrate Shabbat Across America on Friday night, March 20th, since the service will be a “Shabbat in the Round,” remember that we can still feel the holiness of Shabbat, even without a jacket or a tie.
In the last chapters of the Book of Exodus we read of the gifts that our ancestors donated for the construction of the Tabernacle of ancient times. Today we express that same desire with our gifts of tzedakkah to many worthwhile organizations. Especially in these difficult economic times, I hope we would be targeted in our giving, and support those who are helping to fulfill basic human needs. Consider the following text in the Midrash. It speaks about how we determine our priorities in tzedakkah. “[Who do you loan money to when the needs are great and there are competing claims before you? If there is a poor Jew and a poor non-Jew] the Jew is given precedence over the non-Jew. If it be a poor man and a rich man, the poor man should be given preference. If it be your own poor (a relative) and the poor of your city, your own poor should be given preference over the poor of your city. If it be the poor of your city or the poor of another city, the poor of your city should be given preference.” The Midrash reminds us that proximity and need are related to tzedakkah. We give first those who are most needy and closest to us. Other texts also remind us not to be exclusive in our giving and to support both Jews and non Jews. This month we are asking you to give food for those whose needs are great in our city and in the surrounding areas for both Jews and non-Jews. We are obligated to give to those who are hungry. We also need to give to what is closest to ourselves and meets the human needs for community and spirituality, our congregation, The Fair Lawn Jewish Center/Congregation B'nai Israel. I hope you will be generous by bringing food for our food drive this month and also supporting our congregation’s annual fundraiser, the Dinner Dance. In that way we help both the bodies and the souls of those closest to us.
We read in our Torah portion, “Moses went and repeated to the people all the commands of the Lord and all the rules; and all the people answered with one voice, saying, “All the things that the Lord has commanded we will do.” (Exodus 24:3) The words translated as “we will do” in Hebrew are “na’aseh v’nishma.” That literally means, “We will do and we will listen/understand.” Many commentators point out that the order of the words is illogical and seemingly reversed. Shouldn’t the Israelites have said that first “We will listen/understand” and once they were convinced of the value of what God was asking of them, then they could say “We will do [observe God’s commandments].” Some commentators answer that difficulty by pointing out that understanding often comes only after doing. It is sometimes difficult to express in words the feelings, emotions and importance of a ritual act. What does it mean to light Shabbat candles for example? I can give a learned dissertation on the symbolism of light. I could also have a person who observes this mitzvah speak of seeing the light and the feelings it evokes. Lighting the candles can change one’s mode of being from the weekday to Shabbat, from ordinary to holy. Doing brings meaning and sometimes only from observance can we understand the depth of our rituals, often in nonverbal ways. Our ancestors were willing to trust God and to allow the meaning of God’s mitzvot to appear after they observed them. We may be more intellectually inclined but we can learn from their example that sometimes understanding only comes after doing.
This week we read, “This month shall be for you the beginning of the months of the year.” (Exodus 12:2) It refers to the time of the Exodus from Egypt. The month of Nissan, when we commemorate our departure from Egypt on Passover, is literally counted as the first month of the year. In the fall when we celebrate the beginning of a New Year, we are in the seventh month of the year, Tishri. The Rabbis also note that the Torah is not just adjusting the calendar in this verse. The words “for you” teach us that each person must master his or her own time. Unfortunately many people feel that time is ruling their lives rather than being in charge of their time. Such people believe that don't have enough hours in a day. “If only there were twenty six hours in the day…,” they lament as if they could complete their tasks in that number of hours. I would retort to them, “If a day consisted of twenty six hours, you would complain – ‘Why aren’t there twenty eight hours in a day!’” The real concern is not the amount of time we have but how we prioritize our use of time. We become slaves to the clock rather than recognizing that time is a limited resource. We must use it in accord with our highest values, being willing to say no to time wasters, and no to unimportant priorities. Judaism teaches that some of our time is be set aside for holy purposes, study, prayer, celebration and rest. Our ancestors, slaves to Pharaoh, and soon to be free were told to master their time well. I hope we can be as wise and as free.
A few weeks ago I was asked by a member of our congregation, Freeholder David Ganz, to give the invocation at the Bergen County Freeholders meeting on Jan. 6 2008. Here is an edited version of my words. It is appropriate given the changes in our national government.
Eloheinu veilohei avotainu v’imotainu Our God and God of our ancestors: As our county government begins its new term, we first utter a prayer of thanksgiving. We live in a place where we take for granted the blessings of democracy, free open elections and a tradition of the peaceful transfer of power from one representative body to another. We thank God we live in such a place. We pray that we do not take such a blessing for granted and that all of your children, God, will someday join in this democratic existence and bring an end to all oppression. This year, O God, we need a special measure of blessing. Our county and our country have persevered through good times and bad times through war and peace, and through times of plenty and times of want. Now for many we are in a time of want. We are faced with the greatest economic challenges we have witnessed since the Great Depression. We pray that our leaders will be blessed with qualities that we in the Jewish tradition ask of You, Lord, three times a day. May they be blessed with additional measures of daat – intelligence, the a depth of knowledge to understand all the issues before them, binah - insight – the ability to realize all the implications of their actions But this year especially for ask you God for a measure of haskel - wisdom. The requests to our government will be especially great, the cries of the needy will be louder and the resources will be stretched and thin. Give our leaders intelligence, insight but above all greater wisdom to make decisions based on the ideals of our nation to see that kindness and equity guide them. May their wisdom join with compassion, as they will be called upon to make difficult choices and weigh what is right for us all. May they lead us to a future that gives us all greater hope. And let us say Amen.
A classic comment is made on a verse in our Torah portion. “A new king arose over Egypt who did not know Joseph.” (Exodus 1:8) Rashi, the classic medieval commentator, notes that the “new king acted as though he did not know him.” Rashi is pointing out that (pardon the anachronism) we could not imagine a new American President who did not know anything about Lincoln. That would be impossible. However, a new leader might act as if the actions of an important historical person did not happen or that a critical historical event was fiction. The new king in Egypt oppresses the Jews as if it were not true that a Jew served a Pharaoh and saved the country from famine. He shows no gratitude towards them and fabricates facts to oppress them. When we speak of the current events in Israel, we must be sure that we do not forget the past statements and actions of Hamas. Hamas has continued to send rockets into Israel even during a cease fire and is dedicated to the eradication of the State of Israel. Hamas used the time it has been in control of Gaza not to improve the lot of its inhabitants but to obtain missiles aimed at killing civilians. We all pray for peace that must include an end to the missile attacks and an end to the smuggling of weapons into Gaza. We are all so deeply disturbed by the loss of life and hope that a peace agreement is reached that realistically acknowledges the past and contains genuine commitments to change in the future.
While reading some of the commentaries to this week’s portion, I found an explanation of one of our funeral practices. When Jacob is about to die he says to his son Joseph, “Do me this favor…as a sign of steadfast loyalty (Hebrew hesed v’emet); please do not bury me in Egypt.” That phrase in Hebrew hesed v’emet means an act of kindness which we perform with no expectation of recompense or payment. It is associated with the acts of true kindness we do for someone who has died. For example we help to fill in the grave at a funeral by putting in at least three spades dirt into the grave. Then we place the shovel in the ground and do not pass it directly to the next person. I have often been asked why three shovels of earth and why don’t we give the shovel to the next person. In explaining those acts of true kindness Rabbi Tzvi Rabinowicz in his book A Guide to Life Jewish Laws and Customs of Mourning, says that the three shovels of earth symbolize the three fold composition of each person, a soul, a spirit and a breath. I could argue as well that a person’s reality is three fold because each of us is a body, a soul, and in life the combination of the two. Rabbi Rabinowicz says that passing the shovel from one hand to another would indicate a relationship of “over-lordship and servitude but in the presence of death we are all equal.” I sometimes have said that we do not pass the shovel because while we know we are doing an act of kindness, we do so reluctantly. Putting the shovel down indicates our sadness at this necessary action. These are among many explanations of our customs at death. Whether we accept these explanations or not, the basic concept is that we act with kindness and love not just to the living but also to the dead.
In addition I want all of us to be aware of the current situation in Israel. The following is the Internet address of the Israeli Embassy in Washington. It will give you both background talking points about the situation as well as other links to help you understand what is happening. You can cut and paste the following address into your browser www.israelemb.org/.
At the start of the Torah portion, Judah, one of Joseph’s elder brothers, pleads for the life of his younger brother Benjamin. He does not realize that the man he is standing before is Joseph. He knows him as the person whose power is exceeded only by Pharaoh’s authority in Egypt. This heart felt plea on behalf of a brother is diametrically opposed to Judah’s passivity many years ago when Joseph languished in a pit and was sold as a slave. It is a clear indication that a person who once faced a situation where he failed to act properly, is now able to realize the need to respond differently. As the new secular year begins we are reminded of Rosh Hashanah and we think of our ability to change. Judah is able to transform his behavior greatly. We should ask ourselves whether we truly believe that we are capable of great modifications in our actions, or is it only possible to make small adjustments to our personalities and patterns that are fairly fixed? In our hearts I hope, we are able to review our deeds and face the secular New Year with a resolve to do better. Can we make the small changes we know we need and ease the way to greater fidelity to the values we want to model in our lives as 2009 begins?
In addition I want all of us to be aware of the current situation in Israel. The following is the address of our Federation home page which will give you both background talking points about the situation as well as other links to help you understand what is happening. You can cut and paste the following address into your browser @ http://northernnj.ujcweb.org/index.aspx.
Several years ago I asked this question on a quiz I wrote for Chanukah. [Warning: Read the question and the answers very carefully before choosing your response!] What is required if a Chanukah candle goes out? Here are four choices: A. Nothing. Just by lighting the candle you have performed a mitzvah. B. On the next night you have to light an additional candle. C. You must light it again, because it must burn for at least thirty minutes. D. Say the Shema twice, dance the hora and give $18. to the Rabbi’s Discretionary Fund. The only correct answer is A. You are not required to do anything, because it is the lighting of the candle that we are commanded to do. If in answer C. I had said, that you “can” light it instead of saying you “must” light it, that too would have also been correct. In truth, most people including myself would rekindle the candle even though it is not necessary. This rule reminds us of a larger reality. We often begin a project and hope to see that our goal is attained. However if we do not reach our desired end, if our dream of success is extinguished, that does not mean we have failed. It is up to us to begin to bring light to the world, even if the results of our efforts are in God’s hands.
At the beginning of the Book of Genesis, God confronts Adam and Eve asking them to take responsibility for eating the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. Adam blames Eve and then Eve blames the snake for their misdeed. When Cain is asked about what happened to his murdered brother, he responds, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” Now as we approach the end of Genesis, we find Judah, one of Jacob’s sons also given an opportunity to confess a sin, dissemble or keep silent. The story is a bit long and complicated, (You should read it in full!) but at a crucial juncture in our Torah portion, Judah is asked to take responsibility for his offense. His daughter-in-law brings proof of his actions. He could have lied or denied responsibility, however he admits, “She is more in the right than I…” (Genesis 38:26) Why it that people are so unwilling to take responsibility for their actions? People in the public eye or elected to high office are even more likely to deny their culpability. This is especially true when accusations, later proved to be true, are first revealed. Think of politicians or athletes recently accused of wrongdoing or crimes. In the Torah we find that Judah not only takes responsibility here, but he will also step in to rescue his youngest brother from captivity in Egypt in the future. The Rabbis point out that the four letters of God’s name, the Tetragammaton (yud, hey, vav, hey) appear in Judah’s Hebrew name (Yehudah). Our tradition sees the ability to confess not as a sign of weakness or cowardice but as a measure of Godliness and courage.
In the Torah portion we read a story about the sons of Jacob who take revenge on the residents of the city of Shechem. The son of that city’s ruler abducted and raped their sister Dina. Jacob’s sons tell the residents of Shechem that they will intermarry with them, become their neighbors, and allow Dina to remain with them if they circumcise themselves. They agree, but when the residents of the city are healing from the procedure, Jacob’s sons, Shimon and Levy, enter the town, rescue their sister and kill the male residents. That deception and those deaths to avenge and save Dina are very disturbing. A modern scholar, Rabbi Shimshon Rafael Hirsch calls these acts “deserving of censure and for which we are under no obligation to find an excuse.” However I want to focus on another aspect of the story with a statement by Rabbi Jonathan Eibescutz (Poland 1690-1764) who asks, “Why did Jacob’s sons have to take revenge on the people of Shechem by way of deception and to advise them to be circumcised? The answer is: If they had killed the men of Shechem uncircumcised, there would have been a great uproar in the world, a storm of protest. That was not the case when the men of Shechem were circumcised and known as Jews, for then Jacob’s sons were certain that no harm would befall them: there would be reaction at all in the world to the murder of a Jew.” It has been said that those who study the Holocaust can learn a lesson about repeating it. If they want to commit genocide they should choose as their victims people that the world cares little about. Then they can succeed. That happened to our people, not long ago in Rwanda and now in Darfur. I hope that all the merchants of evil, terrorists, those who perpetrate mass murder and those who promote ethnic cleansing, are stopped from their horrific actions because the entire world recoils at the death of any of their victims. May we live in a world where all people are treated as equals, as having infinite worth and as being created in the image of God.
This week I want to comment on a verse from the Torah and leave you with several questions to ponder. In the Torah portion Jacob leaves his home to spend the next twenty years of his life with his mother’s brother Laban. On the way he has a dream sees angels of God going up and down a ladder. When he awakes, he says, “‘Surely God is present in this place, and I did not know it…Shaken, he said, ‘How awesome is this place! This is none other than the abode of God, and that is the gateway to heaven.’” (Genesis 28:16-17) In our Chumash, Etz Hayim, we read about this verse: “How often do we find ourselves in the presence of God, not only in the synagogue sanctuaries but at crucial moments of our lives or in the midst of natural beauty, and remain unaware of it?” I have often asked people about the times that they sense God’s presence. They frequently speak of moments outside the walls of a synagogue. Therefore let me ask: Does the comment in Etz Hayim strike you as true? How can one be in the presence of God and at the same time not be aware of it? The comment suggests three times when one is conscious of God: in a synagogue, at a crucial moment of one’s life and in the midst of natural beauty. Is this a complete list? Why did the commentator choose these three times? What would you add to the list?
As we continue to read the stories of the patriarchs in the book of Genesis, we find that there are recurring patterns in their lives. Parents favor one child over the other. This week we read that Isaac, the weak son of Abraham, an illustrious man, “favored Esau…a skillful hunter…but Rebecca favored [their younger twin son] Jacob.” (Genesis 25:28). Later in the Torah we will find that Jacob, instead of learning the lesson of parental favoritism will repeat that pattern. He will give a special garment, the coat of many colors, to his preferred son Joseph. Then Joseph’s brothers will react to that favoritism and sell their brother into slavery. Deception and favoritism recur many times in the patriarchal stories. Social scientists have noted that both healthy and unhealthy cycles are often repeated through many generations in families. As we read these stories in the Torah it is a good opportunity to think of the patterns of relationships in our own families. Are we aware of them? Can we break out of the unhealthy patterns? Can we repeat the life giving example? While ultimately the stories in Genesis end in family reconciliation when Joseph is reunited with his brothers and his father in Egypt, I hope we don’t need to go through the pain of the patriarchal families to achieve wholeness and holiness.
When Abraham purchases a burial plot for his wife, Sarah, we read a dialogue between Abraham and the owner of the land, Ephron, the Hittite. Ephron says, “I give you the field and I give you the cave that is in it…A piece of land worth four hundred shekels of silver – what is it between you and me?” (Genesis 23: 11, 15) Abraham then pays him those four hundred shekels for the land. He does not accept it as a gift. Some commentators say that Abraham wanted to be sure that he had clear title to the land and therefore purchases it. One traditional commentator, the Rashbam, says that when Abraham heard Ephron’s offer to give it to him, he paid attention to the words specifying the value of the land. For Abraham the mention of the price was “a hint…sufficient to the wise man.” Abraham took the hint, and realized that Ephron was not really intending to give him the land. There was a difference between the words Ephron said and his true intentions. Abraham understood this and took out his purse. It is not always easy to distinguish between what a person says and what he or she really means. For example do we sometimes hear people discount their need for praise when that is exactly what they need and want? Like Abraham I hope we will be able to be sensitive to the words of those around us and be able to discern their true intentions.
When Abraham and Sarah travel through the land of Israel, at one point Abraham is worried that the local monarch will kill him and take Sarah into the royal harem. He expresses such concerns, because, “I thought surely there is no fear of God in this place…” (Genesis 20:11) The term, “fear [or more accurately awe] of God,” is the Biblical phrase to mean that there is no religion or recognition of God. The midwives who disobey Pharaoh and save the Jewish babies in the Book of Exodus are said to be women who live “fearing God.” (Exodus 1:17). Today there have been many books written by prominent atheists who claim that religion is a negative force for humanity. They argue that we would be better off in a world without, to use the Biblical term, people who are “in awe of God.” It is true that many followers of religion in the past have caused suffering and worse. Yet imagine the following scenario described by the writer Dennis Prager. You are in a large city when a group of young people approach you on a dark street. Would you feel better if you knew they had just left their church’s Bible study group? I would hope so. Belief in God is not a guarantee of morality but as Dostoevsky has written in The Brothers Karamazov, “where there is no God, all is permitted.” Belief in God, a sense of awe at the existence of God and therefore a belief in universal ethical rules can and should be the guardian of morality.
One of my favorite Rabbinic commentaries appears as an explanation of this week’s Torah portion. In Lech-L’cha God chooses Abram (later Abraham) to be the first Jew, the first person commanded to follow God’s mitzvot. The Rabbis say that God’s commandments are given to Abram and then to his descendants, the Jewish people, for a special reason, “For what does the Holy One blessed be He care whether a man kills an animal by the throat or by the nape of the neck? Hence [the] purpose [of the commandments is] to refine people.” (Genesis Rabbah 44:1) For those who like to look it up, this interpretation is based on the Biblical verse 2 Samuel 22:31, “The word of the Lord is pure (the Hebrew can also mean refined, as mineral ores are refined to produce metals). There are many details and rules that we are asked to follow and sometimes we might wonder: Does God, who is ultimate and omnipotent, really care how long I wait to eat ice cream after brisket? There are those who say we should follow the mitzvot simply because they are God’s rules without considering the consequences, however positive they may be, for ourselves. There are those who point out that it is possible to be an angry, selfish person and follow all the mitzvot. Yet this Midrash points out that God wants us to refine our character through the commandments. They make us sensitive to God’s presence in all we do. They teach us to discipline our desires. They remind us that we are not alone but part of a great people with a long history. They help us to repair the world. In all these ways they refine our very being.
Is eating meat, kosher meat of course, acceptable? It sounds like an obvious question with the simple answer, yes. However, we read in the Torah that the diet in the Garden of Eden for Adam and Eve was vegetarian. We also learn that in the future in the days of the Messiah, according to the prophet Isaiah, “the lion will lie down with the lamb,” meaning that carnivores will be munching on lettuce and not red meat. Some in the Jewish community argue that eating meat is a compromise, and vegetarianism the ideal. God allows for the consumption of meat only after Noah leaves the ark and the waters of the flood recede. Then we read, “Every creature that lives shall be yours to eat; as with the green grasses, I give you all these.” (Genesis 9: 3) The laws of kashrut teach us that we cannot eat all animals, we cannot eat animals that eat other animals, animals must be slaughtered in a humane manner, and that blood, the symbol of life, is strictly forbidden. All of those rules remind us to discipline our desires to live a life of holiness and respect for all of God’s creations. Yes, I really do enjoy a good hot pastrami sandwich (and they are so much more available here than in Nashville), but I believe that eating meat is a Divine compromise. Following kashrut brings holiness to our eating habits by placing restrictions on our consumption of meat. Some day when the Messiah comes we will live in total harmony with animals and share with them the fruits and vegetables on our plates.
In my sermon before Yizkor on Shemini Atzeret this week, I pointed out two realities in the process of mourning. I spoke of how anger is often felt after a death. It is natural to be angry, at another person, or at God. One should not feel that anger is inappropriate when one is in deep pain after a death. You can express such feelings and not think it is wrong to do so. Faith in God is a dynamic process, not a static one, and I believe that true faith in God allows for times of surety as well as times of doubt and anger. I also noted that there is no timetable for the healing of the human heart. A mourner may have ups and downs even when it appears that an adjustment has been made. While we speak of various periods of mourning in Jewish life: the first week, the first month and the first year, inward feelings may not follow that calendar. This is a warning for those who comfort mourners not to say something like, “By this time, you should be (fill in the blank)...”
A rabbinic dictum encompasses these two points. We are not to greet a mourner or initiate the conversation when making a shiva visit. We are to be present to listen without judgment and without imposing our ideas or feelings about what it is appropriate for the mourner to feel, to say, or to do. In our lives we will all mourn a close relative at some time. Let us realize that anger is often present and that we can feel pain at unexpected times. Knowing this helps us to comfort those in mourning as well as helping us understand our own pain.
Did you notice that during the Vice Presidential debate both Senator Biden and Governor Palin agreed that the genocide in Darfur must be stopped? Nicolas Kirstof, a columnist for the New York Times commented that “…I hope that was a historical milestone: candidates for both parties saying forthrightly that they would intervene to stop genocide, not because of our national interests but because of our national values.” This week we are celebrating a value of our past when we observe Succot. We leave our solid homes to dwell in a succah, a hut to remind us of the time when our ancestors lived in such an insecure structure during their wandering in the desert from Egypt to Israel. During that journey God provided food and protection for them. In Darfur there are refugees living in tents with barely enough food. As you entered the Synagogue for the Holidays you saw a tent to remind us of their plight as well as banner that proclaimed, “A Call To Your Conscience - SaveDarfur.org.” I hope that now you will take action if you have not done already. Simply go to either www.savedarfur.org or www.ajws.org. Both websites list ways you can help to end the genocide and to respond to the humanitarian crisis there. Just as our fast reminds us of those who go hungry each day, our succah reminds us of those who live insecurely. In both cases, actions are called for to help heal our world.
A mitzvah is technically defined as a commandment derived from a verse in the Torah. The Rabbis ask a question about the observance of Chanukah. The Maccabees lived after the Bible ended and the ancient books about their deeds were excluded from the Bible. How can we say that kindling the lights each night of the holiday is literally a mitzvah? We say it is in the blessing “Praised be You, O Lord our God…who commanded (literally using here the word for mitzvah) us to kindle the Chanukah lights?” The Rabbis answer that a verse in Deuteronomy (32:7) reads, in part, “…Ask your father, and he will inform you, your elders they will tell you.” Your father will tell you of God’s miracles and thus obligate you to carry out the kindling of the Chanukah candles. Therefore the observance of Chanukah is derived directly from the Torah. (Talmud Shabbat 23a) Here are some questions for you to consider this week: Does this sound like a convincing argument to you? To what degree are Jewish observances passed down from one generation to the next by children seeing and hearing their parent’s observance? What observances do you consider essential to pass down to future generations and do your children see you doing them?
I did not promise that I would not give you homework when I became your Rabbi. Actually no one asked me about that during my interviews. Should you want some extra credit in the Heavens, I have suggestions for you. Especially since this Shabbat, between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, the Sabbath of Repentance, it is good time to try to repent and follow a holy path. One could also say, as I did on Rosh Hashanah, that now is a propitious time to be an angel and fulfill some of the items on God’s to do list. Here is your assignment, should you accept it. I have been mentioning two mitzvot during the last few weeks: bringing a bag of food on Yom Kippur for those in our community who are in great need, as well as not wearing leather shoes on Yom Kippur. Let me suggest two more tasks for this week. There is a mitzvah in the Torah commanding us to return lost objects. Do you have anything in your home that belongs to someone who loaned it to you but you neglected to return it? This is the week to take it back! Also, is there someone you have forgotten to speak to during the past year? Perhaps you have a friend or relative that you know you should have called. This is the week to be in touch and repair a relationship! These simple actions will be indicative of the start of a year of greater meaning for you. You won’t be graded on whether or not you complete this assignment, but God only knows, you will be given credit on your permanent record card in the Heavens. I look forward to seeing you on Yom Kippur and pray that we are all are sealed in the Book of Life for a good year.
There is a story told of two Jews who were on a crowded street in Jerusalem and one of them bumps into the other. They look at each other and one says,” You look familiar. Don’t I know you from somewhere?” The other looks in the face of the first man for a long time and while he shows no sign of recognition, he finally says, “I know where it was! It was at Mount Sinai.” (This is based on the tradition that every Jew was present at the giving of the Torah there). The man continues, “But it was so crowded and noisy today, I didn’t recognize you.” In our Torah portion we read that Moses says, “You stand this day, all of you, before the Lord your God…I make this covenant…not with you alone, but both with those standing here with us this day before the Lord our God and with those who are not with us here this day.” (Deut. 29:9, 13) Who are those “not with us here this day?” It includes as in the story above all Jews, past, present and future. It includes all Jews by Choice who at one point in their lives chose to join our people. It includes all who feel alienated from Jewish life for any number of reasons. As we gather on these coming Days of Awe, let us welcome, recognize and affirm as brothers and sisters all who come to pray in our synagogue.
In ancient times our ancestors brought their first fruits to Jerusalem and recited a prayer that is in this week’s Torah portion. After speaking of our history as slaves in Egypt and of our redemption from there, the farmer said, “…I now bring the firsts fruit of the soil, which you, O Lord have given me.” (Deuteronomy 26:10) The idea of giving away our “first fruits” reminds us that we should “share what we value most and [not] give what we value least.” (Rabbi Lawrence Hoffman in a commentary printed in The Jewish Week). Here is a question: We are asking all of you to bring to the synagogue a bag of food for those in need when you arrive for Kol Nidre services on Yom Kippur. One of the reasons for our fast is to make us more sensitive to those in our community who go hungry not out of religious obligation but because of need. What sort of canned goods should we bring: top of the line solid white tuna that is more expensive than chunk light tuna? If we bring the former we would purchase fewer cans, but we would be saying that even those who are poor deserve to eat well. We would be sharing what we value most. I have no easy answer to the question – quality versus quantity of our gifts to those in need - however we should ponder this as we give what we value and give as much as we can.
According to the Torah, when you find a lost object, you are obligated to return it to its owner. The Torah discusses lost animals and commands us to ...”take it back to your fellow.” (Deuteronomy 22:1). Rabbi Abraham Chill comments that, “The true test of a person’s character lies in those border areas of human behavior in which either of two opposed lines of action is defensible.” When you find a lost object do you keep it or do you seek its owner? How do you justify your action or inaction? Jewish law distinguishes between two types of lost objects. Those that are identifiable must be returned to the owner. The finder is obligated to publicize what he found. If the owner does not step forward, the finder must care for it like a person paid to watch over someone else’s property. If you lost your wallet, isn’t that what you would want the finder to do? If the lost object cannot be identified, we assume that the owner abandons hope of retrieving it and therefore the finder may keep it. Think of your mindset when you realize a quarter has fallen out of your pocket. A story is told of a man who forgot an umbrella in a yeshiva. Thirteen years later he returned to the yeshiva and found it in the same place where he left it. Returning a lost object is a true mitzvah, a commandment based on a Biblical verse, and an action that reminds us of our own character.
In the Torah portion Shoftim, Judges, it is not surprising to find the following words, “…you shall not take bribes, for bribes bind the eye of the discerning and upset the plea of the just.” (Deuteronomy 16:19). We have just a few weeks before Rosh Hashanah when we will be judging our own actions. Rabbi Zelig Plishkin (Growth Through Torah, p. 425) reminds us that judging ourselves is even more difficult than judging others even without bribes. He notes that, “We do not want to see any faults in ourselves, and want to think that we are full of virtues. This bias will prevent us from taking an honest look at ourselves and objectively finding our faults and limitations.” That bias serves as a bribe, and turns us from seeing the truth of our life. Imagine, Rabbi Plishkin asks, if instead of reviewing your own life, a complete stranger was looking at you with an objective eye. What would he see? What would he praise? Where would be find fault? During the month of Elul, the Shofar is sounded at the end of the morning service. It is a wakeup call for us to prepare for the coming Holidays. It is a loud reminder for us to consider all our deeds of the past years. Can we spend the next few weeks starting to see our flaws and correcting them and not be bribed by our tendency to think positively of ourselves? I hope we can commit ourselves to that task.
A Talmudic Rabbi creatively interprets a verse in the Torah reading to teach us a lesson about wealth. We usually translate the Hebrew to mean, “You shall set aside every year a tenth part of your sowing that is brought in from the field, ” (Deuteronomy 14:22), Rabbi Yohanan says the first words of the verse can also imply “Tithe [asser] so that you will become rich [titasher]” (Talmud Ta’anit 9a) He gives a different meaning to first words of the verse. The Hebrew is asser t’asser – a doubling of the verb that in the Bible indicates a special emphasis.
That interpretation may seem a bit farfetched. Let us try to understand the seemingly illogical statement of Rabbi Yohanan. He tells us that if you give away one tenth of what you have to tzedakkah, you will become rich. Don’t deductions decrease your net worth and make you poorer not richer? Rabbi Zalman Sorotzkin notes that most people never feel they have enough money no matter how large their net worth or income. They do not follow the Talmudic dictum, “Who is rich? He who rejoices in his portion.” (Pirkei Avot 4:1) By giving tzedakkah you are saying that you have enough for your own requirements. If you never part with your resources, no matter how great or small they are, you are never going to feel well-off. Wealth is not based on your net worth. Rabbi Yohanan reminds us that being rich is based on a mind-set, a generous attitude, satisfaction with your resources and a willingness to give to others.
We read in the Talmud, “It was taught: Rabbi Meir used to say, A man is bound to say one hundred blessings daily, as it is written, ‘What does the Lord your God demand of you?’ (Deuteronomy 10:12) (Talmud Tractate Menchot 43b)” This is based on a play on words. The Hebrew word mah, translated as “what” was read by Rabbi Meir as may’ah, “one hundred.” Therefore the verse is read as “One hundred does the Lord your God require of you.” It was noted in a code of Jewish law (the Mishnah Berurah) that a Jew who prays three times a day and eats three meals with the appropriate blessings will say even more than one hundred blessings each day. Therefore we might conclude that reciting so many blessing is not excessive. Why say so many blessings each day? What does each add to our experiences? Clearly they bring a consciousness of God to our daily activities. Blessings that surround eating are like kashrut, reminders that there is a spiritual dimension even to the physical aspects of life. They also require us to be more aware of what we are doing. Blessings are like shining a spotlight on experience. They force us to be conscious that our actions occur within the larger context of God and Jewish tradition. Today many people want to become more spiritual. At a time when we sometimes find ourselves multitasking or repeating actions without thought, blessings help us to take notice of the larger dimensions of life and nourish our spirits.
We usually translate a verse in the first paragraph of the Shema, (in our Torah portion this week, Deuteronomy 6:6-7), as “…these words that I command you this day shall be upon your heart and you shall teach them diligently to your children.” The Hebrew phrase that appears in that verse, v’shenantem l’vanecha, has meanings beyond “teach them diligently to your children.” It speaks of how we educate our children to follow the lessons of the Torah. Robert Alter, a modern scholar of the Bible, translates those words as “…you shall rehearse them…” (The Five Books of Moses p. 912). He suggests that the Hebrew words could also be rendered as, “to rehearse with incisive effect.” In other words how does a parent teach a child Torah? There must be rehearsal. The lessons must be done repeatedly to the point that we follow the acts of Torah as if they were chiseled in our souls as a pattern or behavior. They become a part of our being, as natural as our breathing and as graceful and easy as Michael Phelps’ swimming. A child seeing that behavior would be more likely to make it part of his or her life. Teaching about Judaism is not a matter that a parent just hands over to a Day School or a Religious School. Teaching flows naturally from being a role model. For example, do we give tzedakkah regularly, are we kind to strangers and do we pray with intention? Seeing those examples repeatedly will impress them upon our children.
Our calendar includes four fast days that recall catastrophes in our history. The most important one is Tisha B’Av, the ninth day of the month of Av. This year it begins on Saturday night and ends on Sunday night. It is the saddest day on our calendar, the day when both the First and Second Temples were destroyed in ancient Jerusalem. Other tragedies happened on that day in more recent times: the expulsion from Spain in 1492, and the outbreak of World War One that began a period of suffering for our people. Some have argued that we should abolish all the fast days since the creation of the State of Israel in 1948 and especially since the unification of Jerusalem in 1967. A scholar of our Movement, Rabbi David Golinkin argues that recent events should inform our practice. He quotes a Talmudic source, “If we live in times of peace we must feast on the four original fast days; if we live in times of crisis and danger we must fast on all four days; and finally if it is a time of neither peace nor danger, then one is obligated to fast on Tisha B’av but on the other three fast days – one may fast if one so wishes.” (Rosh Hashanah 18b) He concludes that the other three minor fast days associated with the destruction of Jerusalem do not have to be continued, but that Tisha B’Av must be observed. I hope you will fast not only to help recall the calamities of our past but also as an ongoing reminder that we still do not live in a time of peace. Maybe the fast can motivate us to work for that time of tranquility.
This week we read that “These are the journeys of the Israelites who went forth from the land of Egypt…” (Numbers 33:10) The founder of Hassidism, the Baal Shem Tov, said that “What happened to the people as a whole will happen to each individual. All the forty two journeys of the Israelites will occur to each individual, between the time he is born and the time he dies.” I read those words and I am not certain that each of us will repeat every part of the journey of our ancestors. However, I do feel that we will recapitulate some of the elements of their travels. When we wrestle with God we are like Jacob about to cross the River Yabok, who struggled with an angel. We sometimes feel as sure in our faith as did Abraham when he ascended Mount Moriah, following God’s direct command. Does our path in life seem like wandering, without a goal, as did the meandering journey recounted in this week’s Torah portion? Today we can literally and figuratively know fulfillment as we enter the Promised Land, the Land of Israel, just as Joshua did leading our people. There are many ways that we can identify with the travels and the travails of our ancestors. The past and the present live simultaneously, without the need for a time machine. We just need to be conversant with our own history. That gives each of us a larger context for our lives and places us in a more significant position in God’s cosmos.
At the end of the Shabbat morning service we invite our students to the bimah to lead some of the ending prayers and to say hamotzi with me over the challah. Following Jewish tradition I salt the challah before eating it. I have often been asked, “Rabbi what’s with the salt on the challah?” by people who say they have never seen such a custom. I explain that all of the sacrifices at the Temple in Jerusalem were offered with salt. Since our table is said to be like the altar of that ancient building, the salt is a reminder of our history. In this week’s Torah portion there is a reference to that practice, “It shall be an everlasting covenant of salt before the Lord and your offspring as well.” (Numbers 18:19) Salt is a preservative and the use of salt also reminds us of the eternal nature of our convent with God. One commentator (Rabbi Mordecai HaCohen in Min HaTorah) points out that sacrifices could only be offered with salt and never with either honey or leavening. He learns from these rules teachings about personal characteristics. Honey overwhelms other flavors and therefore its benefits come from a loss. We should not help some people by causing a loss to others. Leavening makes dough rise and symbolizes those who are puffed up with pride and haughtiness. Salt represents modesty. It adds flavor as it dissolves leaving no indication of its presence. Salt on the challah is a reminder of our past practices, a token of our everlasting covenant with God and a symbol of a worthwhile character trait. There is so much meaning in such small crystalline granules!
In the Torah portion Moses instructs the Israelites to “attach a cord of blue (tekhelet) to the fringe (tzitzit) at each corner (of their garments)…” (Numbers 15:37). In ancient times the tzitzit contained four white threads and one of blue. They were attached to the corners of the clothing that people wore every day. Today we put the tzitzit on our tallit. While there are those who have rediscovered the secret of making the blue dye for tekhelet, we usually wear tzitzit with only white threads. Many scholars have sought to understand why those two colors, white and blue, were selected to be on the corners of one’s garments. Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchek points out that white denotes clarity and rationality while blue is called the color of the heavens, the place where God may be said to reside. Therefore blue can remind us of the grand mysteries of human experience that are only knowable to God. Sometimes our lives seem to be like the white threads, rational and predictable while at other times they are like the blue one where “mystery and puzzlement intervene, dislocating the pattern of our lives and frustrating all our planning.” (Man of Faith in the Modern World p. 30). Putting both colors on the tzitzit is a constant reminder of those contradictions in life. I would add that we should pray for our lives to be like the tzitzit. Three of the four threads were white and only one was blue. We can hope that at least three quarters of our days will be full of clear meaning, but also understand that there will be disturbing times. The original colors of the tzitzit remind us of that reality.
When the Israelites complain to Moses as they travel to the land of Israel through the wilderness they say, “We remember the fish which we did eat in Egypt freely, [and] the cucumbers and the melons and the leeks and the onions and the garlic. But now our soul is dried up. There is nothing to eat besides this manna.” (Numbers 11:4-6) Those words reflect a desire to return to an idealized past and turn from the challenges of the future. The Rabbis point out that the word “freely” in that verse is ironic since the Israelites were slaves in Egypt. It also expresses the desire of the former slaves to live without the duties and responsibilities of the Torah as they create a new society in Israel. Today one can argue it is easier to be free of obligations and not volunteer for the synagogue or donate to it or attend classes, services and meetings. There are Jews who flee from those commitments of Jewish life. They are “free” (and most likely have more free evenings!) but they also miss all the rewards of being a Jew, connecting to other Jews, finding one’s place in history, knowing the joys of community and being on a proven holy quest that perfects both the world and the self. The generation of complainers had to die out in the wilderness for they were not ready for the obligations of freedom. A path without duties is a path without rewards.
In our Torah portion we read that, “… Moses finished setting up the Tabernacle; he anointed and consecrated it and all its furnishings… (Numbers 7:1). The classic commentator Rashi points out the word for finished (kalot) can also be read as referring to kallah, Hebrew for bride. He goes on to say that the day that the portable sanctuary (the Tabernacle) was set up in the wilderness was a time like a bride entering the wedding canopy. Picking up on this metaphor we read that on Shavuot our people are wedded to God under a wedding canopy, a chuppah. The Torah is the marriage contract, the ketubah. That image leads to one reason for following the mitzvot. Sometimes we see ritual observance as arbitrary or mechanical, the opposite of behaviors formed because of love. However, love is not just an abstract emotion. When people are devoted to, they have behavioral expectations. When we marry we not only create formal legal obligations but we pledge to be faithful to our spouse. We wear a wedding ring, stop going to singles bars and no longer spend as much time with “the guys,” or “the girls.” Those are some of the “commandments” of love. We accept those standards of behavior because of the love we have for our spouse. Since God loves us (and that is Jewish belief!) and we love God, our commitment is marked by specific behaviors, the mitzvot. Our relationship with God is more than an idea; it is a real relationship, played out in our observance of God’s commandments.
It is a simple command, “…take a census of the whole Israelite community by the clans of its ancestral houses, listing the names, every male, head by head.” Many questions are raised about this counting. There was an earlier census taken in the Book of Exodus. So why is this one necessary? We also find concern about counting our people because a census is often understood as a prelude to disaster. Furthermore we don’t want to be just “numbers” but real human beings. In contrast to that is a comment from the Beit Aharon who sees a value in this enumeration (and yes, I realize the non-egalitarian nature of the census in the Torah). He reminds us that, “Each Jew has to understand and think that he is unique in his nature and no one like him existed before; for if there had been exactly like him then there would be no purpose in him and in truth each person is something new in the world.” This asks a simple but penetrating question to each of us. What precisely do we bring to our world? Can we discern the role or task that is uniquely ours and then also ask: To what degree am I fulfilling it? The play The Adding Machine by Elmer Rice is about how modern life dehumanizes the workplace. The characters have numbers instead of names, Mr. Zero, Mrs. Zero, Mr. One, Mrs. One, etc. Mr. Zero is replaced by an adding machine. His role was taken by a mass produced modern invention. We all have particular names and we posses specific talents to make the world a better place. Let us pray we can recognize our role and fulfill it.
This week’s Torah portion, Bechukotai begins with straightforward words from God declared by Moses to our ancestors, “If you follow My laws and faithfully observe My commandments…” [you will be blessed]. The corollary is that that curses will come to those who do not obey God’s laws. There is one peculiar ruling however. Those observant of the mitzvot will “eat with satisfaction,” while those who spurn God’s laws are not told they will starve, rather they will, “...eat and not be satisfied.” (Leviticus 26:26) There is a lesson here that Rabbi Ralph Simon points out in a commentary. It is not the presence or absence of food, or material goods that ultimately make us feel truly satisfied and happy. Rather our sense of well being depends on other factors. For example two researchers recently wanted to know if having money makes you happy or if what you do with money makes you content. They studied employees at a small Boston area medical supply company who received bonuses of about $5000. They measured levels of happiness before and after the bonus and concluded, that “The size of the bonus you get has no relation to how happy you are. But the amount you spend on other people does predict how happy you are.” People rose a full point on their five point scale of happiness if they spent approximately a third of their bonus on others. Another researcher said the belief that high income is associated with good mood is widespread but illusory. When people get past the level of poverty money does not play a significant role in day to day happiness. We can eat and have all the material goods we want or need and still not be satisfied. If we follow our tradition and give to others, become part of a community, celebrate and study together, then joy can follow and our eating can bring us satisfaction.
One rule in this week’s Torah portion says that, “Your money shall not [be allowed to have] interest [added when you loan money to a person in need].” (Leviticus 25:37) In ancient times loans were usually given to the poor who needed funds to sustain themselves and their families. The Torah did not imagine a modern commercial society. When loans became necessary to transact business, documents were invented to allow for such dealings. Rabbi Chayim Shmuelevitz explains the Torah’s prohibition against taking interest by seeing in it something beyond a monetary transaction. He says that not taking interest reminds us to do acts of kindness for others without any expectation of gain. He points out that not only is it forbidden to receive interest for lending money but the person who borrowed the money is not allowed to do any special favors for the one who loaned him the money. The sage Ben Azzai expressed in the Ethics of the Fathers the same idea by saying, “The reward of a mitzvah is a mitzvah.” (4:2) The reward of doing the right thing is inherent in the act itself. In our example from the Torah, the kindness of helping another is reward enough. That is not an easy way of thinking, but I hope it could inform our thought process when we help those in need.
In honor of Israel’s 60th birthday this week, I want to share with you one of my experiences there. I was with a group from the Jewish Federation of Nashville on a mission to Israel some years ago. On Friday night we gathered to pray in the old city of Jerusalem, where the Southern and Western Walls of the Temple Mount meet. As you look up you see immense walls, but during the era of the Second Temple they were even higher. The top rows of stones were hurled down to the paved street at the foot of those walls when the Romans destroyed the Temple almost 2000 years ago. You gaze at huge limestone blocks sitting on top of the broken paving stones. Our ancestors walked on those stones when they made their pilgrimages to the Temple. During our Friday night service we sang L’cha Dodi. That hymn is not just about Shabbat. It also describes the revival of our people and our land. One verse says, “Holy city, majestic, banish your fears. Arise, emerge from your desolate years. The city renewed from its ruin is raised.” When we sang the words,”Then your destroyers will themselves be destroyed.” I looked at those immense limestone building blocks and the flat paving stones now shattered. Tears came to my eyes. The Roman army, the grandest military force of the ancient world, has long ago disappeared. I am able to stand and sing just where they stood and thought that our people were broken, like those stones. Our holy City is once again our vibrant capital. My voice joined with others, welcoming Shabbat, with words written hundreds of years ago. Those words once described a dream and now they illustrate the reality of the State of Israel.
The crossing of the Red Sea took place on the seventh day after our ancestors left Egypt. Therefore, this Shabbat, the Seventh Day of Passover, we will read that story from the Book of Exodus. It includes both a prose version of those events and a song that Moses and the Israelites sang when they were saved. According to the Midrash, “From the day when God created the world until the Israelites stood near the sea, no one save Israel sang unto God.” Many of the characters in the Bible offered sacrifices to God, or built altars to Him, but the Rabbis are saying that no one used song to praise God until that time. Rabbi Abraham Joshusa Heschel once wrote, that, “The way to faith leads through acts of wonder and radical amazement… [We] sing to Him before we are able to understand Him.” (God in Search of Man pp. 46-47, 281). What do you recall most fondly about your Seders? For many people it is the songs. Even when we sing to God and don’t understand all the words, our spirits are lifted. I hope we can cherish those moments when we raise our voices and find ourselves in a new spiritual place. Like our ancestors, we often express our highest praise and greatest closeness to God through song.
We read that you should not “…hate a person in your heart. You should rebuke the person, and not bear guilt because of him.” (Leviticus 19:17) How do we give and how do we take criticism? The Rabbis of ancient times realized how difficult it is. In the Talmud we read, “Rabbi Tarfon said, “I would not be surprised if there were anyone in this generation who knows how to take criticism…Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah said, “I would be surprised if there were anyone in this generation who knows how to criticize [Rashi comments, “Who knows how to criticize” – respectfully, without the other’s face changing color from humiliation.] (Arachin 16b)… As a Rabbi I have heard criticism aimed at people in the congregations I have served and I have been the target of criticism from members of my congregations. Shortly after I had accepted the offer to be your Rabbi, but before I moved here, I heard a critique of our congregation from a Fair Lawn businessman who was not even a member of the Center! Good constructive criticism is necessary for an individual or an organization to improve. Giving and receiving criticism is not simple. There is an art to do it effectively; to critique with sensitivity and to hear feedback without becoming defensive. Can we do so by the respecting each other’s dignity and honor? This week’s Torah portion is called Kedoshim, holiness. Let’s try to add holiness to how we criticize and how we react to feedback.
Last Sunday for the Family education program, I prepared a handout with several illustrations of a part of the Seder usually called, “The Four Sons,” but in some more recent haggadot, renamed, “The Four Children.” I omitted the four categories from the illustrations. We had to ask, which picture fits into the appropriate category of the text: the wise child, the wicked or rebellious one, the simple or innocent one and the one who does not know to ask. It was easy to figure out that the child reading a book, with his head covered and wearing glasses, was the wise son. After all, don’t all wise Jews cover their heads, study and wear glasses! However, here is a question for your Seder from a modern illustration. Imagine a drawing of a young woman. She is holding in one hand a sign that says, “No Animal Tests,” and in her other hand a placard with the words, “Abortion Rights.” She has long hair and a bandana on her head. On her tee shirt are buttons that read, “No” and “Peace.” Another button has a smiley face and there is one with a peace sign. Is she wise, wicked or rebellious? Is she so sure of herself that she does not even ask questions? Is she simple; that is totally certain of her positions? At the class last Sunday some of the parents and students thought she could be any of the four children. That illustration asks us to ponder - what is wisdom, and what is rebellion? Can they be identical? Are we so certain of our own beliefs that we never question them? Are we simply sure that we are always right? I hope you can take some of these queries to your Seder and enrich your celebration. A Seder should not be just a family get together but a true night of inquiry. Hag Kasher v’samecah. May we all enjoy a happy and kosher holiday.
This week the Torah portion is about a skin disease that is called in Hebrew metzora. The Rabbis of ancient times associated that illness with motzi shem ra, the sin of using words improperly, more specifically the sin of gossip. There are volumes and volumes of works that discuss all the many ramifications of using words wisely. Martin Buber said, “Speak as if God were listening to everything you say.” He also quoted from a Hasidic master, “We learn a lesson from every modern invention. From the telegraph we learn that every word is counted and charged, and from the telephone we learn that every word said here is heard up there.” When the Rabbis read the Bible, they assume that every word of that sacred text is there for a specific reason. The Talmud is full of laconic debates. We should take care with the words we say to each other, not to mention the words we put into e-mails (including this one!). Especially, as we labor for our congregation, we would do well to converse with the constant reminder that God is listening.
This week’s Torah portion begins by speaking about rituals surrounding childbirth. The Rabbis of ancient times speculate about what life is like for a fetus before it is born. One Midrash says that while we are in the womb, we learn the entire Torah. As we are about to be born, an angel approaches, slaps us on the mouth and causes us to forget all of the Torah. What purpose is there for us to study the entire Torah and then forget it? To explain that one Rabbi tells a parable about a king who once heard a beautiful, evocative melody in a forest but soon forgot the tune. He went running from one end of the forest to the other trying to find it, but could not. When he returned home he gathered all of his musicians and asked them to play all the melodies they knew, but to no avail. He never heard that lost haunting piece of music again, but he learned so many new melodies that his life was enriched. That may be why we forget the Torah we learned in the womb. We desire to live a life full of the serenity we knew before we were born. Learning Torah was part of that idyllic condition. We therefore seek what is nurturing, what will give us a sense of care, protection and ultimate meaning. That is the Torah we no longer can recall. By seeking and learning, or shall we say relearning, Torah we can achieve some measure of our prenatal wholeness and security.
There are many reasons given for following the dietary laws. This week’s Torah portion describes the characteristics of kosher animals. There is no mention of health as a rationale for these laws. After listing kosher animals, the Torah says, “For I the Lord am your God; you shall sanctify yourselves and be holy, for I am holy...you shall be holy for I am holy” (Leviticus 11:44-45). The only underlying principle in the Torah for restricting our eating is holiness. What does that mean? To be holy means to be set apart and to live for inspiring values. The Torah is saying that ideally we should be sustained by the produce of the earth. Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden are commanded to be vegetarians. In the future Messianic age, when the lamb will lie down with the lion, even animals will not eat each other. To be holy means to honor God’s creations, even animals. We restrict the animals we eat. We do not consume animals that eat other animals or attack people. We are certain that the animals we eat are killed in a humane manner. We separate life from death; that is milk, the sustainer of life, from meat, dead flesh. It is true that the laws of kashrut also teach discipline and help us to maintain our uniqueness. However we can learn to be holy through the common and mundane activity of feeding our bodies by recognizing distinctions, honoring life and living on a more ideal level.
This week we are continuing to read about how our ancestors worshiped God with the sacrifices they offered in ancient times. In the past few months I attended two programs about how we worship today with prayer. When those programs began all the attendees were asked to introduce themselves by speaking about their earliest or most intensive prayer experience. I listened as the others, Rabbis and Cantors, spoke. One mentioned reciting the Sh’ma at bedtime with his parents beside him. Another told of listening to her beloved Cantor when she was a child. In the opposite mode, one person recalled being timed by a religious school teacher to be sure that his recitation of the first paragraph of the Shema took less than sixty seconds. When it was my turn, I mentioned that I did not have any of those early experiences. I spoke of the Shabbat morning service I attended while I was studying at the Jewish Theological Seminary. I davened at the West Side Minyan. It was an informal group organized by young adults many of whom had attended Camp Ramah. It met on the fifth floor of the community building of Congregation Anshe Chesed in a space the size of a large living room. There were many different types of Jews at the services, some sitting on chairs, some on old couches and some on the floor. They conducted their own service. When we prayed El Adon, something sacred happened. To this day, I recall the intensity and spirituality of those moments. We sang, no I should say we prayed for there is a difference between singing and praying, with great passion. There was a mystical quality to our prayer. The words of El Adon praise the grandness of God. I recall feeling that reality in a way that transcended the words. Was it the singing, the people, the intimate space, or some other intangible that made such an impression on me? Whatever it was I have worked to replicate that feeling at the synagogues I have served, so that we will sense the intensity of prayer and God’s presence in our community. Our ancestors offered sacrifices and I imagine they had those feelings when they came to the Temple in Jerusalem. Ask yourself, when did you first have an intensive moment of Jewish prayer, and how can we work to see that it happens here many times again?
“When a leader sins by doing any one of (the things) regarding the commandments of the Lord his God that should not be done, in error, and so incurs-guilt, or it is made known to him his sin that he has sinned…” (Leviticus 4:22-23, translation by Everett Fox). The Torah portion this week speaks of the sin of a leader and the sacrifice that he must bring to atone for it. Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai says in the Talmud, “Fortunate is the generation whose leader recognizes having sinned and brings an offering of purification.” He affirms that we should not assume our leaders are infallible. We can learn from the leader who is able to admit sins. His or her example helps us to be more willing to confess our own shortcomings. This week we read of a leader who committed a great sin, Eliot Spitzer, the Governor of New York State. That was a serious transgression. We can also think of the Talmudic dictum that “one’s inside should be like one’s outside.” This week it was not only a question of a leader’s sin but of a serious breach of the law and the basic values of our tradition. The Torah reminds us of the need to admit our human weaknesses. However, there is a point where a weakness may be deep enough to invalidate our credibility. We should strive to be compassionate towards the flaws of our leaders and at the same time demand integrity of them.
After the building of the Tabernacle was completed, Moses inspected all the work done
on that portable sanctuary. We read, “…behold, they had done it, as the Lord had
commanded, even so had they done it,” (Exodus 39:43). When the Rabbis read the
Torah they assume that no word is superfluous, so they ask what the phrase, “…even
so had they done it,” adds. We already have been told, “…behold they had done it.”
They say we learn that the workers followed the instructions exactly as God gave them
to Moses, articulated in the words “…behold, they had done it.” The addition of “…even
so had they done it,” teaches us that despite following the precise orders of God, they
had managed to put into the work, a personal touch, adding their feelings and dreams.
That comment reminds us of a larger concern of Jewish life. Our prayers follow fixed
texts. Yet, as we pray the same words so frequently, are we able to add our own
feelings, dreams and concerns to them? In the terminology of Jewish life, can we bring
our own kavvannah (translated as intention) when we pray? One of my teachers
remarked that at some time in Jewish life we confused reading with praying. When we
pray, unlike when we read, we should be focusing not just on the literal meaning of the
words, but on the emotions we bring to the words, the larger concepts behind the
works and on the specific concerns of our soul on that day. By doing so, we could say
after services are over, “...even so had [we] done it.”
Let me ask a simple question; Are you by your nature a deeply generous, giving person? I think most of us would like to think that we are. How do we know? A comment to this week’s Torah portion deals with that question. We read that, “The people are bringing more than is needed for the tasks that the Lord has charged to do.” (Exodus 36:5) In other words, the campaign to raise the needed resources for the building of the Tabernacle was oversubscribed. The fund raising had to stop because more than enough was collected. I don’t think that too many modern organizations have suffered from such a problem, and proclaimed, “Stop giving us money, we have enough. R. Mordechai Yosef, the Ishbitzer Rebbe wonders why the Torah repeats several times the fact that our ancestors generously gave for the sake of this mitzvah. He says that no one can be certain whether he or she is in his or her heart a truly generous person. For example, he continues, when someone gives the first time to a holy cause the gift is given with great enthusiasm. [I can imagine what it was like when the first donations were solicited for our building, the first synagogue in Fair Lawn.] However, continues the Ishbitzer, when a person gives repeatedly to that same cause he will not do so with passion. That could be a sign that he is not ultimately a generous soul. Therefore we read in our verse that people gave as “the Lord has charged.” They were giving to a most holy cause, responding to fulfill God’s will and for that they donated from their hearts and donated many times. It is easy to give donations with little feeling (not that such donations are not appreciated!) but a donation in response to a holy call to concretize the needs of Jewish life, building the Tabernacle in the desert or to use a different example, a Synagogue in New Jersey, such a donation is one that comes from one’s heart. How we respond to a fund appeal from a Holy source, is a way to determine whether or not we are truly generous. Then we are giving from the depth of ourselves to realize the goals of the ultimate Rule of the Universe.
Concerning the census that is taken at the beginning of this week’s portion, we read,
“This is what everyone who is entered in the records shall give: a half shekel…” Exodus 30:13) After the coins were collected, the sum was divided by two to determine the number of people. That is a cumbersome way to conduct a census. Many commentators try to understand why each person gave half and not a whole shekel which would make the process easier. You could also ask why half a shekel; why not a third or a quarter of a shekel, since we are dealing with fractions. One teaching says that half a shekel reminds us that we are a communal people. We need others to complete our selves and to be fulfilled as Jews. For example, we are comforted when we are in the presence of others, in a minyan, to say the Kaddish. The reading of the Book of Esther on Purim, or a Friday night Shabbat dinner is not intended to be a solitary activity. Only in community do we feel the joy of those events. So why not a tenth of a shekel to remind us of a minyan and the needs of the larger community? The half shekel emphasizes how each of us has a responsibility to others. It is easy to say let someone else complete the minyan; I am only one of ten. It is much harder to refuse to be the one to help another be whole. Each of us, whether a scholar, or one with little learning, a generous donor, or the recipient of tzedakah has the potential to fulfill our needs and the needs of others when we join together.
In this week's Torah portion we read about the consecration of Aaron, the first High Priest, and his sons. "...put [a drop of the blood of the ram that was sacrificed] on the lobe of Aaron's right ear and on the lobes of his sons’ right ears and on the thumbs of their right hands and on the big toes of their right feet..." (Exodus 29:19-20). How is leadership related to the body? A commentary by Rabbi Menachem Becker says that a High Priest must lead with these three parts of his body. He must have a listening ear to pay close attention to groaning of suffering people and to hear those who call to him for help as well as to do everything to make things easier for the downcast. He must have open hands to give what is needed to the downtrodden of the people, and he must be fleet of foot to run to offer help generously to all in need. We no longer have a Temple in Jerusalem, nor a High Priest. Imagine, however, if these characteristics were requirements for political office. I ask you, if that were so, who do you think would be most suited to lead our nation?
In the Torah we read about the Ark that contained two tablets of the covenant with the Ten Commandments engraved on them. “…and you shall overlay it with pure gold inside and outside…” (Exodus 25:11) The Ark was the holiest part of the tabernacle. Its covering on the outside was gold but why did it need to have gold on the inside where no one could see it? The Talmud tries to answer this question by applying it; “Rava said any scholar whose inside is not like his outside is not truly a scholar. “ A scholar ought to be consistent and sincere. His actions must be congruent with his words, golden so to speak on both sides. We hope that all our leaders, both religious and secular live out their proclaimed values. The difficulty of doing so was illustrated by a Talmudic sage Rabban Gamliel who demanded that only those whose “inside was like his outside” could study at his Beit Midrash, his House of Study. It was a very small school. When that criterion was removed, hundreds more students were allowed to enter. Some say he had too high a standard and others say that study of Torah was just what was needed to promote integrity. Can we think this Shabbat about how we can be golden within and without, true to our higher values in thought and in deed?
After Moses gives the Israelites the Ten Commandments and many other laws, the people respond by saying, “We’ll do everything that the Lord has spoken and we’ll listen.” (Exodus 24:7) Many commentators point out that the wording in this verse is reversed. Shouldn’t the Israelites first listen (and the word that means “listen” can also mean “understand”) and then agree to obey the rules? The Rabbis of ancient times say that our ancestors were willing to agree to do something even before they understood what it meant. For modern Jews it is difficult to comprehend the reasons for many of the mitzvot. However, sometimes an understanding of the meaning of a mitzvah comes only after doing it. Do we need a full understanding of all the reasons for giving tzedakkah before we make a donation? Does a greater perception come after we are generous? Might the same be true of kashrut and Shabbat? If we want to add more holiness to our lives, doing can come before understanding, as it did for our ancestors.
Here is a quick question about the Ten Commandments. Are they worded in the singular or the plural? In English, for example, “Honor your mother and father,” could be either. But in Hebrew the Ten Commandments are clearly written in the singular. Since they are addressed to the entire people, we might expect the opposite. One traditional answer is that every person should think that he or she is responsible for studying and observing all of them. “Every Jew should say, ‘It was for me that the Ten Commandments were given, and I am obligated to fulfill them,’ rather than saying, ‘The Torah can just as well be fulfilled by other people.’ (Midrash Lekach Tov 11th Century). Imagine if each of us felt that responsibility. Imagine that even in the 11th century there was a concern that some Jews might assume that the Ten Commandments are only for Rabbis, residents of Brooklyn, or others. Imagine if what the world would be like if each of us simply took the Ten Commandments seriously.
What image comes to mind when you hear the word "miracle." According to one explanation in the Torah when our ancestors crossed the Reed Sea (yes, it is the Reed Sea in the Bible not the Red Sea) the following happened, "…the Lord drove back the sea with a strong east wind all that night and turned the sea into dry ground. The waters were split." (Exodus 14:21) Did the strong winds and a powerful tide turn the waters into dry land allowing our ancestors to cross safely in front of the pursuing Egyptians? Did it really look like what Cecil B. DeMille pictured it in the movie The Ten Commandments? What is a miracle? Instead of thinking that it must be an action contrary to the laws of nature, it could also be, as a modern Israeli scholar, Umberto Cassuto, said, an action that, "at the very moment when it was necessary, in just the manner conducive to the achievement of the desired goal," the forces of nature act, "in accordance with the Lord’s will." The timing of the event may be the critical factor for something to be a called a miracle. If that is true, perhaps we can see miracles in our own time and in our own lives. Such miracles require us to look at the world with our vision attuned to the wonders that occur around us. Do you believe that definition of miracle and have you ever experienced one?
When Moses asks Pharaoh to let the Israelites go, there is one time when he briefly relents. He tells Moses to go and worship God, but that Moses must leave the flocks and herds behind. Moses refuses and says, "Our livestock must go with us. We must select from it for the worship of the Lord our God as we shall not know how we are to worship the Lord until we get there." (Exodus 10:26). The modern commentator, Rabbi Pinchas Peli, sees within those words a guide for our own prayers. Moses is not sure what sort of worship he will be asked to perform. It might include, as was common in ancient times, animal sacrifices, Moses wants to be ready for all possibilities and bring with him all the livestock. What does that have to do with us? Rabbi Peli points out that "When it comes to the worship of God, one should not expect to find readymade comfortable formulas…the worship of God requires ever-new wonder and discovery through painful trial and error, ever-new decisions of faith." (Quoted in The Jerusalem Post International Edition) Many words are written in our Siddur. Moses and Rabbi Peli are reminding us to truly add our own words, and feelings when we pray. They are not written in the siddur. They are on our hearts and minds. We will only know and express them at a time prayer when we really "get there."
One of the basic concepts of Judaism is free will. We all can decide to do good or evil. The first story about humanity in the Book of Genesis describes the choice of Adam and Eve to disobey God. However in the Torah we also read that God hardens Pharaoh’s heart as each of the ten plagues strikes Egypt. How is that possible? Did God absolve him of responsibility? According to many Biblical commentators, at first Pharaoh was able to choose whether or not to heed the words of Moses and face the consequences of each of the plagues. However, at some point Pharaoh was so accustomed to ignoring Moses that he could not react differently. He had become trapped in a routine that brought disaster to him and his people. Such a person in a habitual pattern of destructive behavior is stuck in a rut. It is also true that we can find ourselves in good behavioral paths and be, as we say, in a groove. Both grooves and ruts require time and repetition. Are we always able to recognize the patterns in our lives and summon the will to change when necessary? As we start the secular year, I pray we can look at our habits, stick with the grooves and find ways to get out of the ruts.
Last week I mentioned how we bless our sons on Shabbat praying that they will be like the children of Joseph, Ephraim and Manasseh. We do not ask that they emulate our most distinguished our ancestors. (To read my full words go to last week’s Insider on our web site.) However, when we bless our daughters we say that God should make them like “Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah,” the four matriarchs. Why do we mention them, and not ask our sons to be like "Abraham, Isaac and Jacob?" One modern answer says that we are too often more ambitious in our dreams for our sons than for our daughters. This may not be true today, but it was certainly so in the past and only until recently in South Korea, according to this week’s New York Times. Sons were considered more valuable than daughters. More resources were spent on them. When we bless our daughters we say to them and to ourselves that they should strive to achieve. We encourage them just as we do our sons. What does this have to do with the Torah portion this week? Who are the heroes of the first chapters of the Book of Exodus that we read this Shabbat? They are Moses’ mother who hides him in a basket, his sister who follows him down the Nile, the daughter of Pharaoh who rescues him and rears him and the two midwives who defy Pharaoh to save the Hebrew babies. All of them are women. Surely their families had the same expectations for them as for their sons. We should do so as well.
After Jacob is reunited with his son, Joseph, in Egypt, he blesses Joseph’s
children, Ephraim and Manasseh, saying, "God make you like Ephraim and
Manasseh." (Genesis 48:20) These are the exact words that are utilized in the
blessings that a parent says to his or her son(s) every week at the Shabbat
evening dinner. One could argue that we should bless our children to emulate
more illustrious ancestors, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, or even Moses, King
David and the prophet Isaiah. We know almost nothing about Ephraim and
Manasseh. Why do we want our children to be like them? The classic answer is
that they were reared in a foreign land, as a small minority and maintained
their Jewish identity. They did not assimilate into the majority Egyptian culture
and remained loyal to their parents and their faith. Shouldn’t that be enough
for us? We can also read in this blessing another contemporary concern. Were
we to bless our children to be like Moses or King David, we might be saying
that only if our children are exceptionally talented or successful will we be
satisfied. Rather we should want our children to be who they are and to
develop their own talents. Our children are blessings to us whether or not they
attain greatness or fame. We are blessed if they follow the faith of their
ancestors, like Ephraim and Manasseh.
When Joseph, is reunited with his brothers in Egypt, he says to them, "Now, do not be distressed or reproach yourselves because you sold me down here, it was to save life God sent me ahead of you." (Genesis 45:5) Early in his life, Joseph's brothers were jealous of him. They sold him as a slave. Joseph was unjustly thrown into jail in Egypt. He was able to interpret several dreams and rose to a position second to only Pharaoh in the court of Egypt. His brothers came to him seeking food and Joseph created a situation where they were able repent of their sins. At this point, Joseph could have said to them, "Guys you won’t believe what has happened to me since you threw me in a pit and then sold me. It’s the craziest series of coincidences that you could imagine." Instead of that Joseph sees a Divine plan. Can we see a Divine plan in our lives in any sense? Yes, sometimes there are events that are contrary to any notions of God’s love, goodness and justice. But sometimes, we see a pattern and a plan. The invisible lines that connect us to God appear. I hope you can see them and find Divinity in your life.
December 7, 2007
The light of the Hanukah menorah is meant to be seen by others. It is supposed to be placed in a window. The Rabbis of ancient times rule that you can light the menorah as soon as the sun sets. When asked how late at night can you kindle the lights, they answer, only until there are no wayfarers or travelers on the streets. If there is no one else to see the light, you have waited too long. It will not fulfill its purpose. The light of menorah is not meant for reading a book or helping you see what is on the kitchen counter. It cannot be used for a profane purpose. We declare it to be holy in our prayers. It should illuminate the lives of those who see it.
As we are celebrating Hanukah let us think of our inner light. Are we able to roll away the darkness that can surround others with our own inner light? Let us pray for our ability to say words of comfort, to take actions that bring joy, and to join the fight against oppression and injustice. We can illuminate the countless dim places we encounter each day. Our inner light is to be seen and used not only for eight days, but on each day of the year.
November 30, 2007
In my sermon on Yom Kippur morning, I mentioned an event from this week’s Torah portion. When Joseph is a servant in Egypt to Potiphor, a noble in Pharaoh’s court, his master’s wife tried to seduce him. The Torah says, "She caught him by his garment, saying, 'Lie with me'." (Genesis 39:7) According to a Midrash, "At that moment [Joseph’s father, Jacob’s] image came and appeared to him through the window." As I said in my sermon, if this was happening in Wisteria Lane on a show called Desperate Egyptians Wives, we know that the handsome servant would have succumbed to the advances of the older woman. However, seeing his father’s face, at the critical moral juncture of his life, Joseph is made aware of the moral values of his family; values handed down from Abraham, to Isaac and then to his father Jacob. Joseph refuses her invitation. From that moment on, we see Joseph changing from a spoiled young man to a person of strong character. That is a reminder for us to consider the values we have received from our tradition. When we face moral temptation, can we think of our ancestors and how they would guide us to the right decision? Can we imagine them looking at us and approving of what we do?
November 21, 2007
This week I want to share with you a point I made in my sermon at the Interfaith Thanksgiving service we hosted last Sunday. The Talmud (Berachot 7b) notes that from the day the world was created until the time of Leah, the wife of Jacob, no one expressed thanks to the Lord as she did. The exact Hebrew word for thanks was not used by Adam, Eve or Noah, as it used by her. She is quoted as saying at the birth of her fourth son, “This time I will thank the Lord, therefore she called his name Judah. (Genesis 29:35) The Hebrew for "I will thank" in that verse is odeh. The name Judah in Hebrew is pronounced Yehudah, and is derived from the Hebrew word root to thank. That Hebrew word Yehudah was extended to be a term for all of us, the descendents of Jacob. We are called Yehudim, Jews, or those who give thanks. Giving thanks is not just for our American holiday in November. It defines who we are. We enrich our lives and the lives of others by our essential nature, our ability to express appreciation. I pray we are able to thank God for the gifts we have received in our lives as we gather with friends and family this Thanksgiving. It is not just what we do, it is how we live.
November 16, 2007
From Rabbi Ronald Roth
In our portion we read about Jacob leaving his home in Israel and living with his mother’s family in Haran. He works for his uncle, Laban, so that he can marry his two daughters, Leah and Rachel. At one point we read, “Jacob saw Laban’s face and behold, it was not as it had been in the past.” (Genesis 31:1-2). What did he see? He did not hear any words that Laban said, nor did he note any unusual behavior by his uncle. Rather he was sensitive just to his facial expression. A modern Rabbi, Zelig Pliskin comments “From this verse we see the importance of being able to notice the emotional state of another person from the expressions on his face. (Growth Through Torah p. 86). How cognizant are we of the feelings of those around us, our family members, our co-workers, and our friends? It is true that some people have a natural ability to be in tune with others. Their empathy is always present. Perhaps this week we can pay closer attention to all who are near us, be sympathetic to their moods and to react to their needs.