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May 7, 2011/3 Iyar, 5771
Emor
Beginning with this week, our congregational
dvar Torah
will appear in the weekly Shabbat Bulletin,
which can be seen via the index on the home page.
April 30, 2011/26 Nissan, 5771
Kedoshim
Do not hate your
brother in your heart; you shall surely reprove your fellow, and do not
bear sin because of him. Do not take revenge, and do not bear a grudge
against any one of your people; love your neighbor as yourself, I am H"!
(19:17-18)
All Israel are
responsible for one another. (Sanhedrin 27b)
Rabbi Akiva comments on
"love your neighbor as yourself" that "this is the great principle of
Torah." It would seem that there are other candidates out there: Sh'ma
Yisrael, H" Elokeinu, H" Echad – the Unity of Gd, or Bereishit bara
Elokim – Gd is the Creator. Why does R. Akiva pick this one?
If we look at the series
of expressions in our two verses, we see one main point, expressed in
different ways, but culminating in our great principle. This main point
is that Gd wants us to become a unified spiritual community, completely
integrated in Gd's service. In other words, our lives must be aimed at
recreating the situation that obtained when we stood at Mt. Sinai "as one
man with one heart" (Rashi to Shemot 19:2). In this unified state
of our collective consciousness, we are able to apprehend a level of truth
that is not available to us individually. How are we to do this?
On the surface level we
start by training ourselves to avoid negativity – we don't hate our
brother in our hearts. It may be that in the course of interacting with
others that misunderstandings will arise and feelings will get hurt.
Torah tells us not to hold these feelings in to fester, but to approach
the other party and work out the differences. If not, we will be bearing
sin – literally carrying the weight of our sin and the other person's sin
inside ourselves, where it will simply eat away at us and at our
relationships. If we take revenge overtly, or even bear a grudge silently
inside, we create dis-integration in our society. Rather, Torah tells us,
we must love our neighbor as ourselves – just as we love ourselves
unconditionally, just as we are, so we must love others unconditionally,
just as they are (Alter of Slabodka). Freud identified love (eros) as the
force that integrates diversity into a greater harmonious whole; when we
love our neighbor as ourselves we become integrated into a larger, social
whole, until ultimately we do stand "as one man with one heart."
I believe there is a
deeper level on which we can understand this same progression. Another
meaning of tochachah (reproof) is correcting other people's
behavior when it has gotten off the track. This is why giving
tochachah is such a terribly delicate issue, to the point where it is
highly doubtful that there is anyone around who knows how to give reproof
properly – that is, in a way that will not embarrass the other person, but
rather is offered with such love and sincerity that he will accept it in
the spirit that it is offered. But who are we to correct other people's
behavior? Certainly, as Rashi points out elsewhere, one can't point out a
blemish to someone else when one is carrying the same blemish.
Nevertheless, Torah implies that if we do not help others to better
themselves, it is like hating them in our heart, and we bear sin on their
account.
Why is that? Our Sages
often liken the Jewish people to a body, and every Jew to a part of that
body. If one part is out of whack, the whole body suffers. This is true
on a physical level, but even more so on a spiritual level. If one Jew
sins, it taints his soul primarily, but that stain spreads throughout the
entire community, lessening everyone's connection with Gd. If we fail to
protest, say if a Jewish Community Center stays open on Shabbat, then we
are all complicit in Shabbat desecration. The collective consciousness of
that community, of which we are a part and which influences our thoughts
and our perceptions, is less integrated and less connected to Gd as a
result of this decision. That influence on us might be described as
bearing sin on account of the others in the community. Our Sages express
this principle in the quote above from the Talmud – all Israel are
responsible for one another – why, because we are all intimately connected
to one another spiritually.
We can take this
consideration further. If we are to love our neighbor as ourself, we must
first learn to perceive that neighbor in the same terms as we perceive
ourself. We must grow to recognize that we are both expressions of the
same inner Divinity, in the same way that the two Cheruvim were
simply two expressions of the same piece of gold from which the kaporet
(Ark-Cover) was fashioned. Though they appeared different on the surface,
on the underlying level they were both pure gold, the same block of pure
gold, fashioned into two forms. In the same way, we must come first to
recognize that we are expressions of the pure, unchanging, infinite value
of being that underlies the whole creation. Once that is established on
the level of the mind, it can begin to overtake our perception, on the
level of the senses as well, until we begin to perceive everything in our
surroundings, both animate and inanimate, as expressions of the same basic
"substance" from which all creation comes. When we can evaluate our
neighbor's being in the same terms as our own being, then it is completely
natural that we will love our neighbor as ourself.
Shabbat
shalom,
Rafi Rabinoff
April 23, 2011/19 Nissan, 5771
Shabbat Pesach
Pesach is the holiday of
matzot, bread that must be mixed, kneaded and baked completely
within 18 minutes so that there is absolutely no time for any possible
leavening to take place. It would seem that it would be easier and less
stressful simply to make it out of something like rice flour, which can't,
by its nature, ever become leavened. It would be easier, but
unfortunately it wouldn't be kosher matzah. All matzah must
be made with flour that has the possibility of becoming leavened.
As much as Jews are known for enjoying Chinese cuisine, rice matzah
is not kosher for the Seder. (Ashkenazic Jews, who are forbidden from
eating non-chametz grains and legumes [kitniyot], cannot
have rice at all over Passover. Sephardic Jews, who may eat kitniyot,
could theoretically have rice matzah I think, since it isn't
leavened, but not for the Seder.)
There is a similar
situation in the laws of offerings. If a kohen brings an offering
with the intention of eating its meat or offering its sacrificial parts
after their times of permissibility, the offering is rendered piggul
(rejected) and anyone who does eat the meat of that offering is subject to
the severe penalty of karet (spiritual excision). However the
offering is only rendered piggul if all the rest of the procedures
(slaughtering the animal, receiving its blood in a service vessel,
carrying the blood to the Altar and throwing the blood on the Altar) are
carried out properly. If there is any other invalidation along with the
improper thought, the offering is still invalid and the meat may not be
consumed, but the penalty for doing so is much less severe. Like the
matzah, only something that can "fall" from the status of piggul
can "rise" to the status of piggul.
What is the lesson Torah
is teaching us? Matzah is of course symbolic of our freedom from
Egyptian bondage. Perhaps one lesson we can draw from the requirement
that the matzah dough have the potentiality of becoming chametz
is that if we want to be free, we must be prepared to take risks for that
freedom. On a very obviously level, we see our Arab cousins all across
North Africa and into the Persian Gulf finally taking to the streets,
risking gunfire and airstrikes, standing up to secret police and other
dictators' goon squads, all in the name of freedom. In our own case, when
Israel declared independence in 1948 there were all of 600,000 poorly
armed Jews in the Land, who were promptly attacked by 4 Arab armies – yet
we forged ahead and founded our state. Millennia before that, when we
were hemmed in by Pharaoh's army on one side and the Sea on the other, we
had to plunge into the sea before it split.
On a spiritual level we
find the same dynamic. Every step of spiritual growth involves risk. We
must leave behind our comfortable, old spiritual level, our treasured
assumptions about who we are and how we fit into the world, and step into
what may appear to be an abyss where nothing is certain. We may be moving
from a tiny hut into a palace, but we know the hut and we don't know the
palace, and letting go of the hut is sometimes terrifying. But let go we
must if we are to move on.
We are, however, not alone
in taking risks. Gd Himself, as it were, took a tremendous risk when He
created human beings with free will. We are not automata; we can choose
to do as Gd would have us do, or we can choose otherwise. We can choose
to be a source of life and light in the world, or we can choose death and
destruction. Gd knew that if free will were to have any meaning at all,
it must include a real possibility of misuse, that is, sin. In fact, sin
is almost inevitable, as King Solomon says (Kohelet 7:20) "…there
is no one so righteous on earth that he always does what is good and never
sins." But since the perfection of creation can only occur when finite
human beings transcend their limitations and approach perfection, Gd as it
were took that risk, and created the process of t'shuvah
(repentance) so that we can rectify our sins when they occur.
Ultimately the Passover
narrative, and indeed the entire narrative of the Jewish people, our
exile, our redemption, further exile and final, triumphant redemption at
the time of Moshiach, encapsulates the story of creation:
separation of the finite from Gd and its eventual redemption and reunion
with the Divine. As we eat our "bread of affliction" let us remember the
faith of our ancestors who risked everything to follow Gd into the
trackless wilderness, and were rewarded with the exaltation of Divine
Revelation at Mt. Sinai.
Shabbat
shalom, Rafi Rabinoff
April 16, 2011/12 Nissan, 5771
Acharei Mot
Parashat
Acharei Mot speaks in detail about the Yom Kippur service
that Aaron performed in the Mishkan. It opens with G-d giving
instructions to Moses for Aaron after the death of Aaron’s two sons. It
seems odd that the Torah would mention this incident again, when it does
not appear to have any connection to the parasha. Additionally,
the instructions for atonement seem to be a one-man show, without the
participation of the rest of the nation.
It must have
been difficult for Aaron to receive these instructions immediately after
the death of his two sons. He is given the instructions to atone for
himself, his household, and the entire community, yet his own children
were not given this opportunity. One would expect that Aaron would be
angry at G-d for the death of his two sons. However, the Torah seems to
indicate that Aaron had accepted the will of G-d by keeping quiet after
the death of his sons.
Many people
have a tendency to blame G-d when dealing with loss. It is often hard to
understand how G-d could let certain things happen. I have often wondered
how G-d could let something like the Holocaust take place. How much more
so would it have been natural for Aaron to blame G-d, when G-d was
directly responsible for the death of his two sons?
Perhaps the
Torah is teaching us the proper way to atone. It is difficult to atone
for your sins if you don’t accept responsibility for your own actions.
Aaron’s acceptance of G-d’s will makes him the ideal person to atone for
all of Israel. We can’t always understand G-d’s will, but by the
acceptance of His actions, we can atone for ourselves, for our families,
and for all of Israel.
Shabbat shalom,
Zumi Brody
April 9, 2011/5 Nissan, 5771
Metzora
One of
the bedrock areas of Jewish observance is taharat hamishpachah –
family purity. The basic laws are given in our parashah. They require a
separation between husband and wife during the wife's menstrual period;
the practice has evolved such that, effectively, spouses separate for
about 2 weeks beginning with the onset of the monthly period. Since
Judaism does not advocate (or even hardly condone) celibacy, why does it
insist that couples remain celibate for roughly half their married lives?
Jewish law governs every aspect of human life – what we eat, what we say,
what we look at and listen to, how we treat one another, how we relate to
Gd. The purpose of this governance is to free the soul from its
attachment to the body. As humankind was originally created the body's
relation to the soul was like a garment that one can wear or take off as
one pleases. Thus Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden were naked, but they
were not ashamed. They were not identified with their bodies; their
bodies were simply outer coverings that their souls used to interact with
the material world.
All
this changed when they ate from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil.
Just as Good and Evil became mixed up inextricably in their natures, so
their souls became attached to their bodies in a more intimate embrace.
Unfortunately this meant that the body now has the power to drag the soul
down, more than, in most cases, the soul has the power to elevate the
body. Jewish law is a set of procedures to rectify this situation. (See
Malbim to Bereishit for much deeper analysis.)
Unlike some other religions, Judaism does not view the material world as
something to be denied or suppressed. The material level of creation is
simply the most expressed form of the inner Divinity that is at the core
of all creation. Rather, Jews are commanded to sanctify the
material world – that is, to infuse the outer shell with the inner
Divinity. In fact, this is the whole purpose of creation. If we can
speak in such terms, we might say that it is fine for Gd to be alone
within His infinite Self, but if there is a creation "separate" from Gd as
it were, constantly evolving towards perfection, towards sanctity, this
adds a dimension that brings even greater fulfillment to Gd.
The
basis of this added dimension of fulfillment is separation. A famous
physicist once commented that a mother loves her baby and wants to hold it
close, but sometimes she holds the baby at arm's length so she can enjoy
interacting with it. Our own esoteric tradition posits an act of
"contraction" (tzimtzum) on Gd's part to create a "separation"
between Himself and the creation. Once there is separation there is the
possibility of a relationship, and it is in this relationship that we find
the increased fulfillment.
Now we can come back to taharat hamishpachah. The relationship
between a husband and wife is, ideally, one of the closest found in human
society. It reflects the relationship between Adam and Eve, our
forebears, who were created bound together as one creature and only later
separated. Their intimate relationship is an important part of this
bonding. We recognize that the sex drive is one of the most powerful
drives in our makeup, and it can be used to create holiness, or, as we
unfortunately see too often, degradation. The laws of taharat
hamishpachah allow us to achieve a balance between unity and
separation, between material pleasure and spiritual advancement. By
learning to restrain our physical desires, we create a space for our souls
to flourish. In practical terms, we learn to relate to our spouse on all
the levels that can get pushed aside or glossed over when our minds our
preoccupied with physical intimacy. Then, when physical intimacy is
resumed, it is no longer merely physical – the physical pleasure, which
is, after all, fleeting, is now deepened and sanctified by our expanded
spirits. Ironically, we grow closer by means of our separation.
Shabbat
shalom,
Rafi Rabinoff
April 2, 2011/27 Adar II, 5771
Tazria
This
week’s portion begins with discussing a mother’s ritual status after
childbirth. The Torah tells us that she
becomes temeiah (commonly translated, spiritually impure) "as at
the time of her menstruation (niddah)."(Leviticus 12:2) In the very next
sentence, the Torah points out that if the
child born is a male, circumcision is to take place on the eighth day.
This is not the only time that the laws of niddah
intersect with circumcision. Consider the first time circumcision is
mentioned in the Torah. There, God
commands Avraham (Abraham) to circumcise all males of his household.
(Genesis 17:9-14) Precisely at that time, God also reveals that a child
will be born to Sarah, Avraham’s wife. (Genesis 17:19) When Sarah hears
the news, she laughs. The Torah explains
her laughter by pointing out that Sarah had aged and was no longer
menstruating. In the words of the Torah,
"Sarah was old, well on in years, the manner of women had ceased to be
with Sarah." (Genesis 18:11) Here again, there is a confluence between
circumcision and niddah.
Circumcision is also prominent in the Moshe (Moses) narrative.
While on his way to Pharaoh to demand that the Jews be freed, Moshe finds
himself in a terrible predicament—one of his sons is close to death.
Tzipporah, Moshe’s wife, steps in and saves the child by circumcising him.
She then declares, " a bridegroom’s bloodshed was because of
circumcision." (Exodus 4:26) Note how circumcision is here linked to the
blood of bridegroom. By definition, blood, for a groom, hints to the
menstrual blood of the bride as well.
Not coincidentally, the circumcision of all of the males in
Shechem is in the very same narrative as the sexual violation of Dina.
(Genesis 34)
Finally, the sentence from which it is deduced that the blood of
circumcision was placed on the door posts of Jewish homes for the Exodus
from Egypt deals with blood of birth (dam leidah) which, as noted,
is treated as dam niddah—the time of menstruation. (See Rashi on
Exodus 12:6 and Ezekiel 16:6)
While circumcision is well known, many wonder what the
counterpoint is for circumcision relative to women. These texts seem to
teach that the laws of niddah, the laws of family purity, are that
counterpoint. Interestingly, milah (circumcision) and niddah
are not only mentioned together, but they have similar meanings. The
Hebrew for circumcision is milah, which according to Rabbi Sampson
Raphael Hirsch comes from the word mul, meaning "opposite."
Niddah has a comparable meaning -- "separate."
The repetitive linkage of the male circumcision and the female
status of niddah teaches us a clear message. The
Torah sanctifies sexuality, whereas, on
the other hand, the mores of the greater society often pervert it. The
words mul and niddah teach this strong difference and charge
male and female alike to sanctify life even in the most powerful and
intimate realms.
Shabbat shalom,
Rabbi
Avi Weiss
March 26, 2010/20 Adar II, 5771
Shemini
How individuals or representatives of a people might attain holiness
during a lifetime is a central thought in the portion of Shemini.
This portion considers the time of the consecration of the members of the
priesthood for Israelites. Rashi suggests close relationships between the
holiness of the Almighty and the holiness of the Israelites. Lev 11:45
reinforces this classic thought, and an idea oft-stated during recent
Passover seders:
For I am the Lord that brought you out of the land of
Egypt, to be your G-d; ye shall therefore be holy, for I am holy.
Foremost,
the priests and their lineal descendants had to show holiness in observing
laws and commandments which contain both positive and negative precepts.
In the Tent of Meeting Aaron follows Moses’ specific commands from the
Lord to atone for himself and then to atone for the Israelites. This
atonement occurs through bringing the sacrificial offering of the people.
An absence of holiness can be a key to unraveling reasons for the death of
Nadab and Abihu, sons of Aaron, before the Almighty in the Sanctuary.
Commentators have asked what behavior or what abandonment of commandments
were involved? One suggestion often giving is that they were intoxicated.
Another approach may provide a closer and direct link. The portion informs
us that priests and Israelites were beginning to establish elements of
holiness. Nadab and Abihu entered the inner sanctuary without proper
respect for the holiness and sanctity of that environment where
individuals come closest to the Almighty. They contravened laws concerning
the Priesthood, and replaced human authority for the Lord's authority. The
latter occurs when they choose to use a fire other than that which would
descend from the Lord, and then when they offer a strange fire before the
Lord (Lev 10:1). These specific behaviors stained the holiness of the
inner sanctuary and diminished the ideal that priests would represent the
highest standards of holiness. Nadab and Abihu received rapid punishment.
Can their deaths be seen as a burnt-offering to sanctify the name of the
Lord and maintain parameters of holiness for the society?
Shabbat shalom,
Steve Puro
March 19, 2011/13 Adar II, 5771
Tzav
This week’s
parashah is titled Tzav, which means command. In Tzav
the various offerings are discussed as they relate to the Kohanim.
The rituals and procedures for elevation, meal, peace, sin, guilt, and
thanksgiving offerings are commanded to the Kohanim, the proper
procedure for koshering vessels and implements which may have become
unclean or unusable. The Kohanim are also told what to do with
Pigul, disqualified or rejected offerings. The last section of
the parashah describes in detail the consecration ceremony for the
Kohanim.
It is
interesting to note that the commands that Hashem gives through
Moses are directed to Aaron and the Kohanim. However, in the second
half of the parashah there are two specific commands given to
B’nai Israel as a whole. The first is a prohibition against eating
fat. The second is a prohibition against consuming blood. The penalty
for violating these commandments is the infractor’s soul being cut off.
Why are such important commandments with such severe consequences for all
of B’nai Israel placed in the middle of commandments directed to a
small portion of the overall population, the Kohanim?
One possible explanation could be that these commandments, being where
they are, are to stress the importance of the Torah as a whole. That is,
all of it applies to all of B’nai Israel. At first glance it may
seem that this parashah and its commandments would only be relevant
to Kohanim. Close study shows that it contains commandments that
have a very important bearing on the entire nation of Israel.
Shabbat
shalom,
Adam Bell
March 12, 2011/6 Adar II, 5771
Vayikra
El petach Ohel Mo'ed
yakriv oto lirtzono lifnei H"
He shall bring it to
the entrance of the Tent of Meeting, voluntarily, before H" (1:3
Artscroll translation)
Rashi
comments on our verse: He
shall bring: This teaches that we coerce him. You might think it means
against his will, but Scripture says voluntarily. How do we reconcile
these two contradictory ideas? We coerce him until he says 'I want to.'
This
notion of coercing someone until he says "I want to" has a very important
contemporary application. A Jewish divorce must be given by the husband,
and must be given voluntarily. This gives the husband a great deal of
leverage in a divorce proceeding, for the woman is unable to remarry
without the divorce. Our Sages, in part to mitigate this disparity,
legislated that under certain circumstances a man must divorce his wife
and pay her the marriage settlement (ketuvah). If he refuses,
Rambam rules that "we coerce him until he says 'I want to.'" In modern
times, it is unfortunately the case that men will divorce their wives
through the civil courts, but refuse to give a get (Jewish
divorce), leaving the wife in halachic limbo. Some states (New York in
particular) have tried to address this situation through legislation, but
it is not clear that such legislation would pass constitutional muster.
In Israel, where Jewish law has a more prominent place, it should be
easier to address such situations, but unfortunately this has not happened
to any great extent. There are Rabbinic authorities who do not accept the
idea that a "coerced" get is
valid, even if he does say "I want to." Since a remarriage after an
invalid divorce renders any children of the second union illegitimate (mamzerim)
and unable ever to marry into the Jewish community, the stakes are
extremely high, as are passions on both sides of the issue.
I
would like to consider some of the philosophical implications of this idea
that "we coerce him until he says 'I want to.'" The standard
reconciliation that one finds is this. Every Jew wants to do the right
thing - that is, to align his individual will with the Divine Will. The yetzer
hara (inclination to do
wrong), seated in the body and its physical desires, is the barrier that
keeps us from doing what we really, in our heart of hearts, want to do.
The purpose of physical coercion is simply to break down the barriers
standing between our true will and our expressed will. The root cause of
misalignment between the individual will and the Divine Will is the attachment of
the purely spiritual soul to the physical body, and it is this attachment
that the physical coercion is designed to break.
I
heard a story of two Chassidim in a concentration camp that illustrates
this principle. The guards needed some amusement, so they forced one of
the men to strip and immerse himself in a barrel of carbolic acid.
Although it was terribly painful, or perhaps because it
was terribly painful, the Chasid refused to come out of the barrel. When
his friend finally got him out he said that while he was in the barrel he
felt especially close to Gd; his attachment to his physical body was
weakened to a great extent and his spirit was able to connect to its
source, without the material world's pulling him down. Don't try this at
home.
R.
A. Leib Scheinbaum (Peninim on the Torah, 15th Series)
brings an analogy from the Chasam Sofer (R. Moshe Sofer, 19th century
leader of Hungarian Jewry) that approaches this issue from a different
angle. Consider a person who needs to bring an offering to obtain
atonement for some sin. He lives some distance from Jerusalem and will
have to go to considerable expense and take much time off from work to
make the trip. He has to fight against all the excuses and
rationalizations that his yetzer
hara will bring to bear.
Finally he makes it to Jerusalem and brings his offering to the Temple.
There he is overwhelmed by the sanctity of the place, the Kohanim making
the offerings, the Levites engaged in sacred song, the Israelites
attending the services. At this point, he has transcended his yetzer
hara; hewants to
bring his offering and to draw close to the Master of this house. The
coercion is, as it were, not physical force on his physical body, but the
light of Gd working on his soul, making him say "I want to."
Shabbat
shalom, Rafi Rabinoff
March 5,
2011/29 Adar I, 5771
Pekude
There is a famous Midrash
which Rashi quotes at the beginning of our Parashah. When Moshe is
instructing his general contractor, Betzalel, on the construction of the
Mishkan (Tabernacle), he first tells him to construct the Aron
(Ark), which will hold the two tablets that Moshe received from Gd.
Betzalel remonstrates, saying that it is the way of the world that one
first constructs a house and only then builds its furnishings. Moshe
exclaims, "That is indeed the order in which Gd commanded me – you must
have been in Gd's shadow (b'tzel el) when He was speaking with
me!" The commentators ask the obvious question: If Gd told Moshe to build
the housing first, and that was the logical way to do it, why did Moshe
change the order. The answer that is generally given goes right to the
heart of the whole purpose of the Mishkan.
When Moshe was instructing
Betzalel on the construction of the Mishkan and its appurtenances,
he was not actually specifying the order in which they were to be created;
rather he was teaching them a lesson in priorities. The top priority in
the Mishkan was in fact the Aron, for the Aron was
the resting place of the luchot (Tablets), which represented Gd's
communication with Israel, and through Israel, all of humanity. Besides
being the center from which Gd's Holiness radiates outwards, the Aron
itself symbolizes the relatedness of Gd to the world. Gd may be
transcendental to the Creation, but Gd is also intimately involved with
Creation as well.
I think it is significant
that atop the Aron are two Cheruvim, facing one another.
There is a familiar Midrash that Adam and Eve were created in one body, as
it says, "Male and female He created them" (Bereishit 1:27). It
was only later that Gd split the two, specifically so that Eve could be
k'neged Adam – a phrase that can be rendered opposite to Adam, in the
sense of being face-to-face. In other words, Adam and Eve needed to be in
a relationship to one another for both to thrive and prosper, as it says,
"It is not good for the man to be alone" (Bereishit 2:18). In the
same way the two Cheruvim, who are, according to some commentators
symbolic of Gd and Israel, must face each other, must be in a dynamic
relationship with one another.
I believe the need for
relationship is structured into the very finest mechanics of creation. Gd,
the Creator, is an absolute Unity, not made up of parts (see Rambam's 2nd
Principle of our Faith). Creation, on the other hand, is the realm of
difference, of multiplicity. To get from Unity to multiplicity, one first
has to make the transition from one to two. Perhaps we can locate that
transition in our own ability to be conscious of ourselves. If we can
have self-consciousness, then surely Gd can as well. Perhaps Gd, in His
capacity as both the Subject and the Object of His Self-Consciousness,
creates a kind of virtual relationship, a virtual Subject-Object duality
within Himself. At that point Gd's Unity, while remaining totally
unchanged, projects an aspect of duality, and this projection is the
beginning of the multiplicity we call Creation.
It is of course impossible
for any human being to understand Gd's inner nature. Gd's Unity is beyond
comprehension or definition. This is why Gd has revealed to us, among
other things, how to construct the Mishkan and the objects in them;
according to our tradition the function of the Mishkan is to model
the structure of creation for us. As we noted some weeks ago, the
Cheruvim were hammered out of one piece of gold along with the kaporet
(Ark-Cover). That is, duality, and therefore the relationship that
duality represents, are really not distinct from the original Unity from
which they emerge (or appear to emerge).
Shabbat
Shalom, Rafi Rabinoff
Feb. 26, 2011/22 Adar I, 5771
Vayakhel
The main part of this parashah is
the description of how the Tabernacle was built. It goes into explicit
measurements and details concerning who contributed and who was the
artisan in charge of the project. While building the Tabernacle was
significant, if we accept that every aspect of the Torah is significant,
there must be a reason for the details being relayed to us.
Another
consideration is the placement of this parashah. Chronologically
the building of the Tabernacle did not follow immediately after the
incident with the golden calf. The Israelites had sinned mightily and
atoned; is their reward the building of the Tabernacle as a visible sign
that G-d is with them? Or is there more to it? If G-d is everywhere, why
does He need a Tabernacle to be with the Israelites?
There is
no way for us to know the workings of G-d, but a possible explanation
could be that G-d did not want or need a Tabernacle at all. The question
then arises, why did He have the Israelites build one and why is it
described so explicitly in the Torah? A possible answer is that G-d did
not need a Tabernacle, the Israelites did. They were a slave people who
had not adjusted to freedom. The fact that this parashah follows
the incident with the golden calf illustrates the point that the
Israelites could not deal without their leader, Moses. To the Israelites
he was their conduit to G-d. Even though he was not a priest, he was the
instrument that G-d had utilized to free them and perform miracles. The
Israelites needed a symbol that could represent another method of
communing with G-d, since they did not yet realize that they could do so
directly. The slave mentality kept them from appreciating that G-d was
everywhere and available to all, even a slave or an ex-slave.
There
certainly would come a time when Moses would no longer be with the
Israelites. Thus, the Israelites needed a symbol that could be with them
even after Moses was gone. The creation of the Tabernacle was not under
Moses directly. Moses told the Israelites what G-d wanted, a then unknown
artisan to do the work. G-d did not provide the materials, the Israelites
did. The Tabernacle became a part of them because they contributed to its
creation. They gave generously so that they could have ownership. Women
gave up their mirrors. Thus the people had a symbol that could go with
them to the Promised Land. A representation that the next generations
could be brought up knowing they were worthy of serving G-d and accept
that He would listen to them and that they
were His chosen people. By relaying this history the Torah illustrates G-d’s
divine qualities, all forgiving, all loving and knowing what is in our
hearts even if we do not always understand our own motivations. G-d is
always
ready
to accept us back to Him even with our
frailties as long as we have a desire to repent our sins and let Him into
our hearts.
Shabbat shalom,
Michael Roth
Feb. 19,
2011/15 Adar I, 5771
Ki Tissa
Ki Tisa involves the spiritual shaping and defining of the nation of
Israel. This parsha has many key events which include the Almighty
instructing Bezalel, whom the Almighty "imbued with the spirit of G-d"
(31:3), to build the Tent of Meeting, Moses twice receiving Two Tablets
from the Almighty, Aaron building a Golden Calf, and Moses pleading with
the Almighty for the people of Israel. The children of Israel find
themselves on a journey from the exile in Egypt and pursuing an exodus
from Egypt. They find themselves in a wilderness environment and at a
formative stage. In this wilderness the people were exploring their
identity and exploring the limits of their new freedom. Mitzrayim,
the Hebrew word for Egypt, means boundaries. Much of this parsha and a
good portion of the second book of the Torah, Shemot or Exodus,
is devoted to what boundaries and limitations exist for the children
of Israel in their relations with the Almighty. The people were finding
new paths and those paths had many uncertain directions. In this
environment are the Jewish people engaging in a "spiritual
transition" during their forty-year journey?
A census is taken to determine the number of males who are twenty years
and older. Why is the census conducted at this particular time? The
initial explanation is to determine who could serve in the army and be
counted as men in the community. Rather than counting individuals, each
person who qualified was required to give a half-shekel. The amount was
counted to determine the outcome of the census. Perhaps this is an initial
factor in Jewish accounting firms. The half-shekel had a broader purpose.
It is "a form of offering to the Lord to atone for your souls" (30:15).
This atonement for past deeds is also a form of personal evaluation (also
see Lev 27:1-8). The amount of silver was contributed equally by rich and
poor. Perhaps this signifies that every individual has an equal
relationship with the Almighty. The Chassidic Masters ask, Why not a
complete coin? Their response is that the half-shekel is "To teach us that
no man is a complete entity unto himself. Only by joining with another can
a person become a 'whole thing.'” Further, the half-shekel payment was
an opening to the Jewish people's future. It involved the Lord's promise
to prevent the plague, and the funds were designated to build the Tent of
Meeting (Mishkan). ( A shekel is twenty gerah, an ancient Hebrew weight,
and a half-shekel is a coin containing 10 gerah or approximately 4.16
grams of silver)
The Tent of Meeting is the future place where the Almighty will arrange
meetings with the people (30:36). In the formation of the Tent of Meeting,
what would be the first instruction that you would give to the children of
Israel? The Almighty, in communicating through Moses, instructs "Only keep
my Sabbaths! For it is a sign between Me and you for your generations, to
know that I, the Lord, made you holy." (31:13 ). In establishing
foundations for faith and belief the Lord is also creating concepts
of holiness. Sabbaths are the contractual relationship between the Jewish
people and the Almighty. It is noteworthy that this instruction and
relationship occurs prior to the giving of the Tablets. In the Friday
night Kiddush a key purpose of Shabbat is revealed. It is "to remember
Creation and to remember the Exodus."
Shabbat shalom,
Steven
Puro
Feb. 12,
2011/8 Adar I, 5771
Tetzaveh
You shall make them
linen breeches to cover the flesh of nakedness, from the hips to the
thighs shall they be [28:42]
You shall not ascend
My Altar on steps, so that your nakedness will not be uncovered upon it
[20:23]
The kohanim, for whom the breeches
mentioned in our Parashah are intended, are clad in linen tunics that
reach down to their ankles and wrists, and are bound by a sash/belt. The
Kohen Gadol (High Priest) has in addition a robe and an apron that
covers him from the waist down. Why the emphasis on underpants?
At the end of Parashat Yitro, where the
second quote comes from, the concern apparently is that by raising their
legs to walk up a flight of steps, the kohen's nakedness would be
exposed to the floor of the Sanctuary beneath them. The question then
becomes, do stones see, that they would be embarrassed, or that the
kohanim should be embarrassed before them? The whole things sound a
bit prudish.
I think that we are being given a profound
lesson here on the Torah's conception of modesty, and its importance in
our spiritual growth. Modesty in the Jewish world is a concept that is
much more far-reaching than in Western thought, and it is clear from the
moral tone of much of Western society that we would all be well-served by
moving closer to the Torah's ideals.
In the Torah's eyes, the essence of modesty
is in keeping hidden that which is supposed to be hidden, that is, the
inward values of life. If one has a precious pearl, one doesn't go out
into the marketplace showing it off to everyone – besides being a good way
to get it stolen, it cheapens the pearl. If we have a precious flower, we
don't want everybody handling it, for it will become damaged. We don't
share our deepest feelings with the whole world (unless we live in
California perhaps), rather we save them for the few truly intimate
friends who will appreciate them. And it goes without saying that our
sexuality, which should be reserved for our spouse, and at the appropriate
places and times, is not something we go about displaying to all and
sundry.
In behaving modestly we are actually
imitating Gd. Gd is the ultimate inner value – Gd is the infinite Source
of all finite creation, and dwells as it were in the very core of every
creature's being. Gd is Omnipresent, yet we do not perceive Gd through
our senses directly; instead Gd as it were "clothes Himself" in layer
after layer of garments, "covering Himself" with levels of manifestation
from the most refined and ethereal layers to the grossest surface layers.
Gd does not advertise Himself; rather He shares Himself with those who
have yearned and striven to be close to Him.
People, on the other hand, often do display
an urge to advertise themselves. I think the reason is simply a desperate
need to establish their independent existence, and this in turn is a
symptom of disconnection from Gd. One to whom Gd is an ever-present
reality is by that very fact humble – how is it possible to aggrandize
one's finite self when the infinite is always right there for comparison?
And the fact that there are thousands of people out there who do feel a
need to advertise themselves is a manifestation of the dangerous extent to
which our whole society has drifted away from its sure anchor in the
infinite and is floundering, trying to define itself in terms of the
ephemeral. Such a society cannot long endure, as even a superficial study
of history will amply demonstrate.
Shabbat shalom,
Rafi
Rabinoff
Feb. 5, 2011/1 Adar I,
5771
Terumah
From a strictly halakhic perspective, the kindling of the
menorah is not an act of serving God. No doubt the menorah is a holy
object, but still the Talmud concludes
that "lighting [it] is not considered a service." (Yoma 24b)
Perhaps this means that the lighting of the menorah creates a holy
atmosphere that serves as a backdrop to the actual Temple service where we
approach God. This is accomplished through its representation of three
major themes in human experience--- creation, revelation and redemption.
The menorah brings us back to the creation story, where the first creation
was light. (Genesis 1:3) In the center of the
Garden of Eden were the tree of knowledge
and tree of life. The menorah looks like a
tree. It is adorned with flowers, knobs and cups. The flowers represent
the buds that spring forth fruit; the knobs are shaped like a round fruit;
and the cups are symbolic of vessels into which nectar is poured. (Menahot
28a) As Eden was a society of peace, so the menorah sets the tone for what
hopefully would be an experience of inner peace
as we serve God in the sanctuary. Its lighting accentuates the powerful
beauty of the tree; it ignites serenity within us.
The menorah resonates with the image of Sinai as well. It brings us back
to the moment when the Torah was given
where light was abundant. (Exodus 19:16) The three branches on each side
are associated with worldly knowledge. Yet, the wicks in each of these
branches turn toward the inner shaft - teaching the idea that everything
has its source in Torah. The lighting of these wicks focus our energy on
our primary means of connecting to God
–love of the light of Torah. (Mishlei 6:23)
The menorah may also allude to the Messianic world. Not only do the wicks
point inward, the flames reach toward heaven, reminding us of our mission
to be a light to the nations of the world. (Isaiah 42:6) From this
perspective, when viewing the lighting of the menorah our thoughts focus
on the fact that the tabernacle experience should encourage us to fix the
world, bringing it to
ultimate redemption.
These ideas should speak to us today. Upon entering a synagogue and
seeing the eternal light, it ought to echo inner peace, love of Torah, and
a striving toward perfection. When creation, revelation and redemption
converge in the synagogue we can't help but feel spiritually drawn to God.
Shabbat
shalom,
Rabbi
Avi Weiss
Jan. 29,
2011/25 Shevat, 2771
Mishpatim
Among its 53 mitzvot, Parashat Mishpatim
discusses the punishment for (intentional) murder, (accidental)
manslaughter, and bodily injury. The text provides scenarios that
illuminate the fine distinctions of the law. One of the examples is the
following (Shemot 21:22-25):
22) If men
fight and collide with a pregnant woman and her babies go out, but there
is no harm, he will certainly be punished as the husband of the woman
assesses against him, and he shall give (pay) according to the judges. 23)
But if there is harm, he shall give (pay) a life for a life. 24-25) An eye
for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, etc.
It is a difficult passage. Yet its rabbinic understanding is highly
relevant.
Upon first encounter, one might think that “there is
no harm” means that the babies survive, and that “there is harm” means
that the babies die. But if that’s the appropriate interpretation, for
what exactly is the accidental assailant liable if the babies survive? And
how can one explain the inclusion of “an eye for an eye, a tooth for a
tooth, etc.” as part of the punishment for the death of the babies?
Our tradition accepts a different interpretation,
which is reflected in the Talmud, Mechilta, classic Torah commentaries,
and later halachic (legal) rulings. Accordingly, “her babies go out” means
that she miscarries, i.e., that the fetuses are delivered dead; “there is
no harm” means that the mother is not injured; and “there is harm” means
that the mother dies or is injured. Paraphrasing, the text can now be read
as: Suppose a man accidentally strikes a pregnant woman and she
miscarries. If she is not physically injured, the man shall pay a fine as
requested by the woman’s husband and approved by the court (to cover
emotional distress and/or the lost future economic value of a child). But
if the woman dies or is physically injured, the man shall pay a life for a
life, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, etc.
The rabbinic
interpretation of this difficult passage implies that causing an abortion
is neither murder nor manslaughter, since its stated punishment (a fine)
is less severe than the previously stated punishments for murder (death)
and manslaughter (exile). In other words, a fetus is not equivalent to a
person.
The
paths from this starting point to the halachic positions regarding
abortion are too complicated to explore here. First and foremost, one must
recognize that this text discusses accidental abortion, not intentional
abortion, and applies only to Jews. But nonetheless the text’s message is
crucial: Judaism does not consider a fetus to be equivalent to a person.
Indeed, all halachic rulings on intentional abortion fall between
the pro-choice and pro-life extremes that dominate the debate in American
society.
Shabbat shalom, Jeffrey Melnick
Jan. 22,
2011/18 Shevat, 5771
Yitro
“In the third month from the Exodus of the
Children of Israel from Egypt, on this day, they arrived at the Wilderness
of Sinai.” They camped opposite the mountain. Moses was familiar with this
area because it was at this same mountain where he saw the Burning Bush.
Three days later in an awesome display, Hashem revealed Himself to the
Israelites, on the Mountain. Then Hashem spoke the Ten Commandments, which
were the rules they had to practice as His special people, a kingdom of
ministers, a Holy people.
“A Jew by the very condition of his Jewishness
pays the continuing price of Sinai. If Jewishness remains his fate,
Judaism remains the framework of his native spiritual existence and G-d
his partner.” Each generation should regard itself as standing at Sinai,
says the Passover ritual; as one people, miraculously delivered, in the
wilderness, trembling before G-d, His treasured possession. As long as we
keep alive the consciousness of Sinai each Jew can find their roots. “The
berit was his father’s but it is his also.” (The Torah: A Modern
Commentary, W. G. Plaut 1981)
The people had seen Hashem’s heavenly
presence, therefore He didn’t want them to make images; gods of silver and
gods of gold for themselves but rather, “An Altar of earth shall you make
for Me and you shall slaughter near it your elevation-offerings and your
peace-offerings, your flock and your herd; wherever I permit My Name to be
mentioned I shall come to you and bless you.”
May our synagogue and all places of worship
continue to merit Hashem’s presence.
Shabbat
shalom,
Jeff
Rose
Jan. 15, 2011/11 Shevat,
5771
B'shalach
One has to admit that the splitting of the Sea of Reeds, the narrative of
which is contained in this week’s parasha of Beshallach, has to be
near, or at, the top of the list of “‘Great Torah Moments.” That is not to
say that it is the climax of the Torah, which is certainly reserved for
the Revelation at Sinai, which we will read about in next week’s parasha
of Yitro. But the splitting of the sea has its own unique
recognition.
The Children of
Israel were in a desperate situation, pursued by Pharaoh’s army, and
terrified to the point of complaining to Moses, saying, ”... for it is
better that we should serve Egypt than that we should die in the
Wilderness.” But salvation arrives.
The sea divides for
the Children of Israel, allowing them to pass safely through, but crashes
down on the Egyptian army, destroying it. They then join in great
celebration: The Shirah, the Song by the Sea. In fact, this
celebration is emphasized not just by the words of the song, but also by
the unique way the song is actually written in the Torah itself.
Clearly, the Children of Israel recognized the significance of the
moment: They are finally freed from Egypt, their enemy has been
destroyed, and they are now a nation unto themselves. Nothing bad ever
happens to the Jewish people again.
Well, wishful
thinking. In fact, no sooner than the celebration finishes, then the
people are confronted with new unpleasant realities. And their
complaining begins anew. They are now in the wilderness and find a lack of
water and food, only to be saved once again through Divine aid.
Subsequently, they are confronted with a new enemy, Amalek, the first of
the other nations to attack Israel, and certainly not the last, to state
the obvious. It seems their problems are really never ending.
So now what to make
of the celebration and the Song by the Sea. Acknowledgement of Divine
intervention to be sure, but why then? Was it a premature or ill-timed
celebration?
Perhaps the Torah is
suggesting an important lesson. Life’s journey can be seen as a series
of climbs. As we go higher up the mountain, we may reach a point that
appears as a great view. We may pause, reflect in awe at what we
perceive, and even celebrate. But there is always more climbing to do, and
it may get harder as we climb higher.
Rejoice in good
times, but be mindful of the fact that new difficulties may be
forthcoming. However, we should not confront these challenges with
complaints, or by becoming embittered, or feeling self-pity. Rather as
opportunities to show our mettle.
Shabbat shalom,
Paul Tesser
Jan. 8,
2011/3 Shevat, 5771
Bo
The book of Exodus discusses the
children of Israel's Departure from Egypt. We recognize these activities
in our daily prayers when we say passages from Exodus. The
Departure from Egypt is part of the children of Israel becoming a people--Klal
Yisrael (the people of Israel)--and fulfilling the covenant which the
Almighty made with our forefathers Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks’ Future Tense points to Judaism's
original purpose "as a partner with G-d and with those other faiths in the
never ending struggle for freedom and social justice for all." He argues
that the covenant that Jews entered into involved creating a just world in
which the divine presence can dwell. Judaism shows that Jews are a people
of G-d, and their covenant with the Almighty indicates behavior they
should follow to achieve the goal(s) of being the people of G-d.
Our Sages and other scholars often proposed arguments that
were conducted--l'shem shamayim--"for the sake of Heaven." In an
earlier parsha of Exodus Moses' demand of Pharaoh (see e.g., Ex
III:18) was "The Lord, the G-d of the Hebrews, hath met with us. And now
let us go, we pray thee, three days journey into the wilderness, that we
may sacrifice to the Lord our G-d." We can raise the question of what
would have happened if Pharaoh agreed to Moses' initial demand? What
would be the story of the children of Israel and Judaism? Three questions
can be raised for your thoughts. Would there be differences in the fabric
of the covenant between the children of Israel and the Almighty? Second,
absent the plagues, which serve as an example of the Almighty's presence
and authority, would as large a number of people have left? Recall in an
earlier parsha, Va'era, Moses, speaking in the name of the
Almighty, tells the children of Israel to leave Egypt; and they do not
follow him. Third, is it possible that rather than Aaron serving as the
High Priest there would be an egalitarian community for prayer and
religious observance? The example of Korach and his followers indicate
that an egalitarian framework would probably not be self-sustaining.
When you inquire about this different view of Pharaoh's
behavior, what other changes would you make in the Exodus saga? How would
your changes affect the way Jews lived and how Judaism was practiced in
the post-Exodus era to the present day?
Shabbat shalom,
Steven
Puro
Jan. 1, 2011/25 Tevet,
5771
Va'era
Beginning in the fourth Aliya, we read about Moses and Aaron asking
Pharaoh to let the children of Israel ‘do their own thing,’ as it were.
The initial requests to Pharaoh are modest ones. “Let us go and worship
our G-d”. This begins the story of the pleadings of Moses and Aaron, and
Pharaoh’s agreeing and then breaking his word. This process is repeated a
number of times before the Almighty finally sends the terrible plague of
the firstborn. What an extreme measure G-d finally had to resort in order
to finally get the point across.
How many times have
the Jewish people said to their oppressors, we simply want our freedom to
live as Jews without bothering anyone else? How many times have we pleaded
with host countries and cultures just to be left alone? How many times has
Israel extended its hand to the Arab communities to live in peace? And how
many times have their hearts hardened to reject the Jewish plea for
peace.
Today’s enemies,
just like Pharaoh, wish us ill. They want us to live according to their
worldview and their expectations. Thus in order to settle the conflict,
just as in bible times, the solution may be so radical, that the enemies
of the Jews, at the end, may be very sorry that that they didn’t listen to
the initial overtures for peace and tranquility.
Rather than
negotiate with terrorists whose word will not be kept, we may be forced to
fight. A possible outcome would be the creation of an exodus of vast
numbers of Arabs from the area of the Jordan River westwards. This will be
similar to the plague of the firstborn, which convinced Pharaoh to finally
let our people go. This way may be the last option to achieve real peace.
Shabbat
shalom, Gene Brody
Dec. 25,
2010/18 Tevet, 5771
Shemot
I am always struck by how many
self-improvement books perpetually make it to the best-seller lists. Such
titles as Become A Better You, Getting Things Done, and
Your Best Life Now are typical. What is it about human nature that
creates a continuous need for motivation and reassurance?
In Shemot, Moses is portrayed as
someone who is certainly in need of a motivational seminar. When God
first reveals Himself to Moses, the exchange is quite involved and rather
intriguing. God charges Moses with the task of taking the Children of
Israel out of Egypt; Moses then readily declines this challenge. In
fact, four times Moses expresses reservations about his ability to carry
out the task that God gives to him.
Initially, Moses seems to display humility,
which is quite understandable given such a daunting undertaking, when he
suggests that he is unworthy of the task. God reassures Moses that He
will be with him, which would seem to be motivation enough. But Moses
continues to express self-doubt.
Moses proceeds to express his concern that the
Children of Israel will ask him for the Name of God who will be delivering
them. Moses implies here that the Israelites will not believe him without
some type of evidence. God again reassures Moses, but he seems to still
be in need of tangible proof. God then demonstrates three miracles,
symbolically agreeing that actions can speak louder than words. Moses yet
again refuses by indicating that his lack of eloquence makes him
unqualified. God appears to lose patience with Moses, and speaks to him
in harsher terms, perhaps indicating that Moses is not within his right to
refuse this mission. Of course, after their lengthy dialogue, Moses,
possibly reluctantly, finally accepts the challenge.
William Shakespeare said, “Some men are born
great, some achieve greatness, and others have greatness thrust upon
them.” Where does Moses fit in this spectrum? The Rambam stated that
Moses was the greatest of the Prophets. Does this mean that Moses was
uniquely qualified for the task of delivering the Jewish people, and for
that reason was chosen by God? Or does his litany of refusals suggest that
he was, in fact, initially quite ordinary when first approached by God?
As the original “motivational best seller,”
the Torah may support the idea that most everyone is initially unprepared
to meet great challenges when forced by circumstance to face them.
Nonetheless, when the cause is just, despite initial reservations,
greatness can be achieved by even the most humble of individuals.
Shabbat
Shalom,
Paul
Tesser
Dec. 18,
2010/11 Tevet, 5771
Vayechi
Following the blessings
of his grandsons Ephraim and Manasseh, Jacob tells Joseph that he is about
to die. Since Jacob is the last of our patriarchs to die, we cling to his
final words. Abraham, Isaac and Jacob form the cornerstone of Judaism for
all future generations. Jacob promised Joseph that G-d will not abandon
him and that G-d will bring Joseph to Canaan, the land of his fathers.
This belief permeates all of Judaism. We believe that G-d will not leave
us, that He is with us in the Diaspora and in Israel.
Jacob addresses all of
his sons immediately before his death, “And Jacob called his sons and
said, “Come together that I may tell you what is to befall you in days to
come.” (49.2) But when the text continues, Jacob does not tell his sons
what the future will bring. Instead, he speaks personally to each of his
sons. (Rashi’s interpretation regarding why Jacob did not tell of “the
end of days” is that the Divine Presence, or the Shechinah, was removed
from Jacob so that he could not pass on such information.)
This portion of text is
still puzzling. As we know, the Torah is complete and every word is
intentional. According to the Zohar, the foundation of Jewish mystical
works, there are three kinds of speech: Speaking, Saying and Relating.
“Speaking” is the most general and is defined as a verbal act. “Saying”
is also a verbal act but the words come from the heart. “Relating”
differs from the first two in that it is the voice of the soul. This
differentiation can help us to understand Jacob’s words.
According to the
Aggadah, the classical rabbinic writings, Jacob wished to relate deeply
and soulfully to his sons on his deathbed. In poetic form, Jacob gave
each son an honest appraisal of his life’s accomplishments. The words
Jacob uttered to his sons, the fathers of the 12 tribes of Israel, were of
heightened value because they came from the voice of his soul. Each son
still had his life ahead of him, tasks to complete and obstacles to
overcome. Jacob was a righteous man and the poetic blessings he gave his
sons would help them create the nation of Israel.
How often do we get an
honest appraisal of our own lives like Jacob gave to his sons? Like
Jacob’s sons, we are each on a unique journey. We need loving words,
objective criticism and guidance in order to succeed.
The lesson we can take
from this part of Vayechi is to place a higher value upon “relating” than
“speaking” or “saying”. Our conversations should be meaningful and
sincere with children and adults alike. “Relating” is an expression of
empathetic honesty, the opposite of sarcasm and platitude. Emulating our
forefather Jacob in this way pushes us to share our true thoughts and
feelings. Our goal becomes to look for and point out the value in
others. Although it takes no extra time to speak from our heart and soul,
it requires thoughtfulness, courage and compassion. I cannot think of a
more worthwhile tool that each of us can use on our own personal journey.
Shabbat shalom,
Laura
Lieber
Dec. 11,
2010/4 Tevet, 5771
Vayigash
Today’s parashah, Vayigash, has an
underlying theme which is carried from the previous parashah, Miketz.
As the story goes, Yosef’s jealous brothers sell him to merchants, who
take him to Egypt. When the brothers go back to Yaakov, they tell him
that Yosef has been killed by a wild animal. Since that day, Yaakov
mourns over his favorite son.
Meanwhile, in Egypt, Yosef eventually becomes
the chief advisor to Pharaoh. Because of a famine, many people from
Canaan, like Yosef’s brothers, travel to Egypt for food. When Yosef’s
brothers come before him requesting food, he recognizes them, but they do
not recognize him. Yosef does not tell them who he is, until after he
plays a little trick on Binyamin. After Yosef’s servants “find” his
goblet in Binyamin’s bag, Yehudah pleads for Yosef to take him as a slave
and not Binyamin. At this point, Yosef reveals himself to his brothers.
As they weep, all the mean and bad things said and done seem to be
forgotten. This in itself is amazing. Even after the brothers SOLD Yosef,
he appears to forgive them.
So after rejoicing at the sight of his
brothers, Yosef sends for his father and the rest of his household. At
first Yaakov does not believe that his favorite son is alive. Why
would he believe this? His other sons told him that Yosef was dead,
killed by a wild animal. But after much persuading, he brings his family
up to Egypt to see his son. When father and son meet, both cry, happy to
be reunited. Now a family again, Yosef finds a home for his father,
brothers, and the rest of the household in Goshen. During this time, the
brothers do not seem to get questioned or admonished for what they did.
Nowhere in this story does Yaakov speak of the lies about his son’s death,
nor does Yosef try to get his brothers to admit that they acted poorly or
jealously.
Perhaps all was not forgotten, but the Torah
only speaks of the joy of getting back together. To me this means a lot.
It shows that even after everything they did to each other, they still
made amends. The Torah, by emphasizing the weeping and unifying of this
family seems to be teaching us that we should strive to do what Yaakov and
Yosef and their family did. Looking out for each other even after all of
our arguments and difficulties is more important than holding a grudge.
If we do this, we will all learn to appreciate our parents, children and
siblings more than we already do. Life is short; remember that when your
family wants to hang out with you, consider it, they love you more than
you know.
Shabbat Shalom,
Madison Rinder
Dec. 4, 2010/27 Kislev,
5771
Miketz
When Yosef (Joseph) is
appointed second to the king by Pharaoh he is given an Egyptian name. In
the words of the Torah; "and Pharaoh called Yosef - Tzafnat Paneach."
(Genesis 41:45) The Torah then tags on an additional statement: "and
Yosef went out over the land of Egypt." If Yosef was given a new name why
does the Torah not use that name when describing his going out to rule
Egypt?
Perhaps the answer lies in evaluating
Maimonides’ position that the person who sanctified God’s name most in the
world (Kiddush Hashem) was Yosef. (Laws of the Fundamentals of Torah
5:10) This is strange, because after all, sanctifying God is commonly
associated with dying for God. Why did Maimonides not pick any of the
myriad of Jews who gave their lives for the Almighty to embody this most
important principle? Why pick Yosef who did not die for God?
Rav Ahron Soloveitchik offers an
interesting insight. He argues that for Maimonides the greatest
sanctification of God is not dying for Him but living for God.
In many ways dying for a cause is
easier than living for one. Dying takes a moment and is often associated
with great honor. Living for God requires an every day and every moment
commitment. Doing the small things that often go unnoticed is the true
test of Kiddush Hashem.
Note Maimonides formulation of the laws
of Kiddush Hashem. What is Kiddush Hashem, he asks? Rather than list the
times that one should die for God, Maimonides first lists those times when
one should transgress the law rather than die. Only after explaining when
life overrides the law, does Maimonides mention the few times when dying
for God is mandated. (Laws of the Fundamentals of Torah 5:1,2) Rav Ahron
concludes that living for God is mentioned first, as it is paramount.
No
wonder Yosef is the model of Kiddush Hashem. True, he did not die for
God. Still, although the only Jew living in Egypt he lived every moment
for God -- never forsaking his Jewish identity. In the most difficult of
times he did not assimilate, he did not forget who he was. This is Kiddush
Hashem par excellence.
Our original question is now answered: Pharaoh’s intent in giving Yosef
an Egyptian name may have been to encourage him to lose his identity. The
Torah, however, is quick to point out that Yosef went out over the land of
Egypt to underscore that Yosef remained Yosef. He was not swept away by
Pharaoh’s thinking; he remained true to his Jewish identity.
An
important message for Jews living in the modern world. When engaging
modernity and gleaning from worldly wisdom and becoming involved in
tikkun olam we dare not forget our roots, our names, our
responsibility to see the world from the prism of Torah. A good starting
point in keeping our roots is to retain our Hebrew names. Names reveal a
great deal about character, about who we are. Like Yosef who despite
Pharaoh’s efforts to rename him, to redirect him, remained the same Yosef.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi
Avi Weiss
Nov. 27, 2010/13 Kislev,
5771
Vayeishev
Joseph is a key person in understanding the development of the Hebrew
people and their relationships with the Almighty. Our analysis and
knowledge about this complex individual begins in Vayeishev and
continues to the end of Genesis, i.e. , three additional parshas. The
Torah's approach explores numerous and complicated roles concerning
Joseph's activities, such as interpreter of dreams, a Hebrew slave in an
important Egyptian household, and a prisoner. Joseph begins the path of
the descendants of Abraham into Egypt (mitzrayim). Discussion and
reference to mitzrayim is a regular part of our daily and Shabbos
prayers.
Jacob, Joseph's father, has an important connection in Vayeishev
and the following three parshas. The Pentateuch argues:
If Abraham represents the root of the Jewish people and Isaac the
continuation toward that trunk, then Jacob represents the true trunk....
For Jacob is the one who will hand to the future nation its name and
destiny.
Jacob has received promises from the Almighty about a successful
future for the Jewish people. In this parsha we find that Jacob would not
be consoled when presented with "evidence" concerning the death of his
favorite son, Joseph (37:35). This idea shows a vulnerable, insecure side
of Jacob's character. Prior elements of this insecurity occur when he
interprets the Almighty's message(s) during the dream relating to a ladder
(Vayetze). The parsha informs us that Jacob's pain will continue by
using the verb "he wept" (37:35) in the future tense. Is it reasonable to
suggest that Jacob's weeping involves his questioning whether the
Almighty's promises will be kept? In contemporary Israel, the Israeli
novelist David Grossman (To the End of the Land, and The Yellow
Wind) develops ideas concerning how individuals in Israel struggle to
remain themselves and retain their Jewish identity during tragedies faced
by the Jewish state.
When Joseph is brought to Egypt, he is purchased by Potiphar, the chief of
cooks who was an official in Pharaoh’s court. Immediately, the parsha
tells us (Gen 39:3) that "The Lord was with Joseph and he became a
successful man." The idea that the Lord was with Joseph reflects the
Torah concept of Divine Providence. The Lord intervened on Joseph's
behalf. Joseph, while a slave in a hostile culture, remains loyal to the
Lord's principles. How did our great-grandparents or grandparents remain
loyal to central Judaism concepts while living in hostile cultures?
I found difficulty in understanding the idea "And his master saw that
the Lord was with him (Joseph) and that the Lord made all that he did to
prosper in his hand." How could Potiphar have this knowledge about the
Lord, since he did not know about either the Lord or principles of
Judaism? In further contrast, the dominant cultural activity in Egypt was
to worship idols. In the current time period, how would we attempt to
answer the question about the Lord being with an individual? What would
be the definitive characteristics? In addressing Potiphar's view of
Joseph, Rashi and the Midrash Rabbah (Gen 39:3) suggest that
Potiphar saw that Joseph whispered G-d's name whenever he came in and
whenever he went out. Further, Joseph prayed for G-d's blessing in
whatever he did. Another possible source of the Egyptian's recognition was
Joseph's honesty and treatment of others. One outcome of Joseph's
behavior was that Potiphar promoted him to be his personal servant and
supervisor of his entire household (Gen 39:4). R. Simeon b. Yohai
connected these ideas by teaching that wherever the righteous go, the
Shechinah accompanies them. So the blessing followed Joseph and the Lord
also blessed Potiphar's house for Joseph's sake. In this and subsequent
parshas Joseph indicates his success is based upon the Lord's guidance;
see, for example, the way he initially address Pharaoh (Gen 40:8 and
41:6).
In Vayetze and the following parashah we will follow Jacob's journey as he encounters a spiritual search and a twenty-year personal exile
from his own land. The struggle between Jacob and Esau takes on new complexity in Jacob's journey. Jacob's journey and many of our
journeys can be seen from different perspectives. The plain interpretation is that Jacob is fleeing from Esau and going to Padan-Aram.
Another interpretation could be that Jacob's journey will establish his relationship with the Almighty. As part of these activities, Jacob is
seeking paths to become a righteous person. We recognize that he will become the Patriarch of Israel as part of his lineage from
Abraham and Isaac.
In Vayetze we find Jacob making vows or promises which will define his relationships to the Almighty. There are both explicit and implicit
elements in his and our vows or promises to the Almighty. The idea of Jacob's vow is puzzling. The key phrases are from
Bereishit 28:20-21 which say: If G-d will be with me, and will protect me on the way that I go...so that I come again to my father's home in
peace; then shall the Lord be my G-d. Is Jacob's vow creating a new relationship with the Almighty in stipulating a series of conditions that
the Almighty is required to fulfill? Another view can be that Jacob is praying to the Almighty for protection and an ability to fulfill his spiritual
commitment. Rashi adds depth to these ideas. He argues that Jacob is requesting that the Almighty keep his promises to Jacob and the
land of Israel, so that Jacob will be able to fulfill his promises to return to this place and build a temple to the Almighty.
As Jacob engages in these journeys during the next several parashiot, we can ask whether his standards of conduct are worthy of the
Almighty's promises and protection? This idea introduces a central question of Midrashic interpretation concerning what promises are
given to a righteous person in this world.
Steven Puro
Nov. 20, 2010/13 Kislev,
5771
Vayishlach
This week’s portion,
Vayishlach, means “and he sent.” This refers to the messengers that
Yaakov sent to make peace with his brother Esav.
Yaakov was very worried
about his reunion with his brother. The last time Yaakov and Esav were
together, Yaakov had just stolen Esav’s blessing from their father.
Yaakov was very frightened
that his brother was approaching, prepared to wage war against him. So
Yaakov came up with a three-part plan. The first part was a military
plan. He divided his group into two camps. He thought that if Esav did
strike, then at least one of his camps would survive if one got attacked.
Second, he prayed to G-d. Yaakov reminded G-d of the promise that G-d
made to protect him. The final part of Yaakov’s plan was to send gifts to
his brother, Esav. Yaakov would send servant after servant with gifts for
Esav in the hope that by the time he made it to Esav, his brother would be
willing to forgive him.
The night before the two
brothers met, Yaakov wrestled with an unidentified being. There are many
interpretations that refer to Jacob’s struggle with an “angel.” Some say
it was the angel of Esav. Another source parallels this as a struggle
between two worlds--the spiritual and the material. Another mentions the
struggle between the divine and man.
It was a long and
difficult night for Yaakov. In the end he was not defeated and it was at
this point that his name was changed to Yisrael. Just like Yaakov, the
Jewish people have struggled against many foes. At this point in our
history, we are fortunate enough to say that we have prevailed. Though no
one looks for a struggle, these difficulties bring out the highest and
deepest potentials in human beings.
When Yaakov and Esav do
finally meet, Esav hugged Yaakov and forgave him.
Sara Lynn and Mimi Levy
Nov. 13, 2010/6 Kislev,
5771
Vayetse
Joseph is a key person in understanding the development of the Hebrew
people and their relationships with the Almighty. Our analysis and
knowledge about this complex individual begins in Vayeishev and
continues to the end of Genesis, i.e. , three additional parshas. The
Torah's approach explores numerous and complicated roles concerning
Joseph's activities, such as interpreter of dreams, a Hebrew slave in an
important Egyptian household, and a prisoner. Joseph begins the path of
the descendants of Abraham into Egypt (mitzrayim). Discussion and
reference to mitzrayim is a regular part of our daily and Shabbos
prayers.
Jacob, Joseph's father, has an important connection in Vayeishev
and the following three parshas. The Pentateuch argues:
If Abraham represents the root of the Jewish people and Isaac the
continuation toward that trunk, then Jacob represents the true trunk....
For Jacob is the one who will hand to the future nation its name and
destiny.
Jacob has received promises from the Almighty about a successful
future for the Jewish people. In this parsha we find that Jacob would not
be consoled when presented with "evidence" concerning the death of his
favorite son, Joseph (37:35). This idea shows a vulnerable, insecure side
of Jacob's character. Prior elements of this insecurity occur when he
interprets the Almighty's message(s) during the dream relating to a ladder
(Vayetze). The parsha informs us that Jacob's pain will continue by
using the verb "he wept" (37:35) in the future tense. Is it reasonable to
suggest that Jacob's weeping involves his questioning whether the
Almighty's promises will be kept? In contemporary Israel, the Israeli
novelist David Grossman (To the End of the Land, and The Yellow
Wind) develops ideas concerning how individuals in Israel struggle to
remain themselves and retain their Jewish identity during tragedies faced
by the Jewish state.
When Joseph is brought to Egypt, he is purchased by Potiphar, the chief of
cooks who was an official in Pharaoh’s court. Immediately, the parsha
tells us (Gen 39:3) that "The Lord was with Joseph and he became a
successful man." The idea that the Lord was with Joseph reflects the
Torah concept of Divine Providence. The Lord intervened on Joseph's
behalf. Joseph, while a slave in a hostile culture, remains loyal to the
Lord's principles. How did our great-grandparents or grandparents remain
loyal to central Judaism concepts while living in hostile cultures?
I found difficulty in understanding the idea "And his master saw that
the Lord was with him (Joseph) and that the Lord made all that he did to
prosper in his hand." How could Potiphar have this knowledge about the
Lord, since he did not know about either the Lord or principles of
Judaism? In further contrast, the dominant cultural activity in Egypt was
to worship idols. In the current time period, how would we attempt to
answer the question about the Lord being with an individual? What would
be the definitive characteristics? In addressing Potiphar's view of
Joseph, Rashi and the Midrash Rabbah (Gen 39:3) suggest that
Potiphar saw that Joseph whispered G-d's name whenever he came in and
whenever he went out. Further, Joseph prayed for G-d's blessing in
whatever he did. Another possible source of the Egyptian's recognition was
Joseph's honesty and treatment of others. One outcome of Joseph's
behavior was that Potiphar promoted him to be his personal servant and
supervisor of his entire household (Gen 39:4). R. Simeon b. Yohai
connected these ideas by teaching that wherever the righteous go, the
Shechinah accompanies them. So the blessing followed Joseph and the Lord
also blessed Potiphar's house for Joseph's sake. In this and subsequent
parshas Joseph indicates his success is based upon the Lord's guidance;
see, for example, the way he initially address Pharaoh (Gen 40:8 and
41:6).
In Vayetze and the following parashah we will follow Jacob's journey as he encounters a spiritual search and a twenty-year personal exile
from his own land. The struggle between Jacob and Esau takes on new complexity in Jacob's journey. Jacob's journey and many of our
journeys can be seen from different perspectives. The plain interpretation is that Jacob is fleeing from Esau and going to Padan-Aram.
Another interpretation could be that Jacob's journey will establish his relationship with the Almighty. As part of these activities, Jacob is
seeking paths to become a righteous person. We recognize that he will become the Patriarch of Israel as part of his lineage from
Abraham and Isaac.
In Vayetze we find Jacob making vows or promises which will define his relationships to the Almighty. There are both explicit and implicit
elements in his and our vows or promises to the Almighty. The idea of Jacob's vow is puzzling. The key phrases are from
Bereishit 28:20-21 which say: If G-d will be with me, and will protect me on the way that I go...so that I come again to my father's home in
peace; then shall the Lord be my G-d. Is Jacob's vow creating a new relationship with the Almighty in stipulating a series of conditions that
the Almighty is required to fulfill? Another view can be that Jacob is praying to the Almighty for protection and an ability to fulfill his spiritual
commitment. Rashi adds depth to these ideas. He argues that Jacob is requesting that the Almighty keep his promises to Jacob and the
land of Israel, so that Jacob will be able to fulfill his promises to return to this place and build a temple to the Almighty.
As Jacob engages in these journeys during the next several parashiot, we can ask whether his standards of conduct are worthy of the
Almighty's promises and protection? This idea introduces a central question of Midrashic interpretation concerning what promises are
given to a righteous person in this world.
Steven Puro
Nov. 6, 2010/29 Cheshvan,
5771
Toldot
At
the end of this week’s
parasha,
the aftermath of the blessing incident is described. As was to be
expected, Esau is angry at his brother Jacob for agreeing to connive with
their mother Rebecca to receive the blessing originally intended for him
(Esau). And Esau threatens Jacob’s life. Hearing of it, Rebecca arranges
to have Isaac send Jacob to spend time with her brother Laban in Padan-Aram
on the pretext that it would be beyond bearing were Jacob to marry a
Canaanite woman as Esau had. His send-off is described in the following
words:
“Isaac sent Jacob; he went to Padan-Aram to Laban, son of Betuel the
Aramean, the brother of Rebecca, mother of Jacob and Esau” (Genesis 28:5).
On the homiletic assumption that no unnecessary words appear in the
Torah,
we have to ask ourselves what might be the significance of adding the
information at the end of the verse that Rebecca is the mother of Jacob
and Esau?
Take
some time to think of a response to this question before reading
on.
This
very question seemed to have troubled Rashi. Commenting on these words,
Rashi says:
“I do not know what this teaches us.”
Rashi, by admitting a question exists, but that he has no answer, is
teaching us an even more valuable lesson. Rashi is indicating to us it is
nobler to reveal our ignorance than to attempt to cover it up.
What
is unacceptable is to be aware of one’s ignorance, have the opportunity to
remedy it, but do nothing about it.
If
we are prepared to admit ignorance of things Judaic but do not take
advantage of the many adult Jewish education opportunities available at
Traditional Congregation and in the St. Louis Jewish community or in
cyberspace, in that ignorance there is no nobility.
Shabbat shalom,
Rabbi
Ephraim Zimand
Oct. 30, 2010/22
Cheshvan, 5771
Chaye Sarah
Although the bulk of this week's Parashah is devoted to the story of
Eliezer's successful search for a wife for Yitzchak, the earlier portion
gives considerable attention to Avraham's purchase of a burial plot for
Sarah. I believe that, in the spirit of "the deeds of our ancestors are a
sign for their descendents," much of what happens has relevance to us
today, as we sort out the relationship between ourselves, the Land of
Israel, and the nations of the world.
First
we note that Avraham must approach the native peoples and petition to be
allowed to purchase a landholding. This in fact is considered by our
Sages to be one of Avraham's 10 trials. Despite the many promises Gd made
that the Land would be his and his descendants’, it was not clear that he
would even be able to bury his dead there. Avraham tells the Hittites "A
sojourner and a resident am I with you" (23:4) and Rashi quotes the
Midrash as saying: "If you want I am a sojourner, but if not
I'll be a resident and I'll take the plot by law, for Gd has told
me 'to your descendents I will give this Land.'"
Apparently the sale of any of the Land to "outsiders" was frowned upon,
for the Hittites offer "the best of our gravesites" to Avraham for use in
burying Sarah, sort of a lease arrangement. Perhaps they thought, or
hoped, that Avraham would move on after a while. Avraham, however, asks
for an achuzat kever; the word achuzah comes from a root
meaning "to grasp" or "to hold." In other words, Avraham wants to buy
the land, and after making it known that money was no object, the owner of
the land he wanted finally did sell, for an exorbitant sum of money.
This
is the first of three instances where full price was paid for land in
Israel, deals made out in the open and recorded in Scripture. The second
was the purchase of a field around Shechem by Ya'akov upon his return from
Lavan, and the third was the purchase of the site of the Temples in
Jerusalem by King David. The first two of course came before Gd's promise
was fulfilled, and the third was afterward. The three locations are right
along the spine of the Land of Israel: Shechem (Ya'akov. Shechem is the
modern Nablus = Neopolis = "new city" although Shechem is quite ancient),
Jerusalem (David) and Chevron (Avraham). They are also the sites most
hotly contested by the so-called Palestinians, although their interest in
this land does not go back any further than the Jews' repossession of it.
Why
does Scripture spend time describing real estate transactions that
happened long ago? First, these transactions set the pattern for our
relationship to the Land to this day. At the beginning of the Zionist
enterprise we, as a people, found ourselves exactly in the position of
Avraham. We were still the rightful possessors of the Land, having
relinquished neither claim nor connection through all the vicissitudes of
history. Yet we were forced to repurchase the land, often twice, from
absentee landlords in Beirut or Istanbul, and from the peasants working
it. We were often forced to pay once again with the blood of our
children, as in Chevron in 1929, or in any of the wars that we have fought
with our adversaries. Even today, Arabs are executed by our "peace
partners" for the "crime" of selling land to a Jew, and the world decries
our attempts to live in the properties we have purchased.
Shabbat shalom,
Rafi
Rabinoff
Oct. 23, 2010/15
Cheshvan/5771
Vayera
Our
story begins with the appearance of three "men" at the door of Avraham's
tent. These "men" are actually 3 angels, each with his own mission:
Rafael (from the root r-f-a = to heal) to heal Avraham after his
circumcision; Michael, who announced the impending birth of Yitzchak to
Sarah (Gd had already informed Avraham); and Gavriel (from the root g-b-r
= strength, and associated with the Attribute of Justice) to overthrow
Sodom and its associated cities. Of the 3, Rafael (who is also assigned
to save Lot and his family from the coming disaster in Avraham's merit)
and Gavriel head off to Sodom to complete their assignments. When they
approach the city Lot, recently appointed to be a judge in Sodom, invites
the "angels" to spend the night with him. Rashi points out (to 19:1):
Above [when they came
to Avraham's tent] they were called
anashim ["men"]; when
the Shechinah was with them they were called
"men." Or, by Avraham who was stronger [i.e. on a higher spiritual plane
than Lot] there were angels around all the time like men, but by Lot they
are called angels.
This
phenomenon may be similar to the debate on Noach's status as discussed in
the opening verses of Parashat Noach: "Noach was an ish tzaddik tamim
in his generations..." Rashi on this verse (6:9) says:
"In his generations":
Some of our Sages teach this as praise – certainly if he had been in a
generation of
tzaddikim he would have been a greater tzaddik.
Some teach this as denigration – in comparison to his generation he was a
tzaddik; had he lived in Avraham’s generation
he wouldn’t have been considered anything [special].
Apparently everything we evaluate is colored by the environment we are in
(and which we create as well). As a wise man once said [paraphrase], In a
smoky room nobody can see clearly. In particular, our evaluation of
phenomena is colored by the background against which we perceive them.
This
environment is created by the collective thinking and activity of the
people in the location under consideration. Thus when Avraham is
"bargaining" with Gd he specifically mentions that the righteous people
must be found "within" the city. If the righteous hold themselves aloof
from the life of the city, they are unable to have much of an influence on
their surroundings. Rather they must teach by word and example and offer
criticism where that is necessary. Otherwise the community continues on
its course and suffers the consequences of its activity. As our Sages
tell us, he who is in a position to protest the activity going on around
him (on whatever level – family, workplace, city, nation) and does not, is
held responsible for the sin that he let slide. Additionally, he is
likely to be caught up in the general conflagration – Lot was saved only
in Avraham's merit (19:29) and not his own.
Finally, some words about Sodom and why it was destroyed. According to
our Sages, Sodom was not destroyed because of sodomy; rather it was
destroyed because the strong took advantage of the weak. People were
treated as objects to be made use of, either economically or otherwise.
And this evil was institutionalized. For example, in Pirke Avot (5:13) we
read: "Four types of natures: … One who says 'what is mine is mine and
what is yours is yours' – this is the ordinary average person, but some
say, this is the nature of Sodom." In another place we are told that
Sodom was destroyed because its citizens insisted in all cases on their
strict rights under the law. (Measure for measure then, Gd exacted His
full rights under the law!)
The
Midrash tells us that in Sodom if a vendor came to town selling produce,
the residents would each steal a little bit – less than one could claim
recompense for in court, until the person was left with nothing at all.
It was forbidden to give a poor person food. When a young lady was
discovered sneaking bread to a beggar she was covered with honey and stung
to death by bees. All in accordance with the law.
Shabbat shalom,
Rafi
Rabinoff
Oct. 16,
2010/8 Cheshvan, 5771
Lech Lechah
|
Parashat Lech Lecha begins the story of the
Jewish People. Abraham, the father of the Jewish People, leaves his
father's house and journeys to the land of Canaan. I would imagine
that this would be difficult at any age, but being seventy-five, I'm
sure it was even more difficult. I think many of us take for granted
that if G-d spoke to us, we would do whatever He says. However, I
wonder if that is really true.
As the
story begins when Abraham is seventy-five years old, we can only
wonder what transpired in Abraham's first seventy-five years. The
most famous aggadic - not scriptural - story of Abraham's life
up to that point dealt with Abraham smashing his father's idols.
There is another aggadic story of Abraham being thrown into a
furnace and miraculously surviving. Regardless of the accuracy of
these stories, we can clearly see a desire to explain how Abraham
began his relationship with G-d and how that relationship saved
Abraham.
If those
stories had been included in the Torah, it would certainly be much
less dramatic when Abraham heeds G-d's call and leaves his father's
house. After all, if G-d had saved him from a burning furnace, then
it would not take too much faith to continue following G-d's
commands. I prefer to take what's written Torah and leave the
Midrash Aggadah aside. I believe that Abraham made a huge
leap of faith when he left his father's home and started a new life in
the Land of Canaan.
Abraham
is truly an inspirational figure for me, as he followed his religious
convictions and made "Aliyah." I often wonder if the first
conversation that G-d had with Abraham began with the words Lech
Lecha. Perhaps G-d is telling us the same thing with the rebirth
of Israel. The only question is are we listening?
Shabbat shalom,
Zumi Brody |
Oct. 9,
2010/1 Cheshvan, 5771
Noach
Today’s
Torah portion is Noach. The first thing that stood out to me,
believe it or not, was the first sentence: “… Noah was a righteous man,
perfect in his generations.” Righteous means having good morals,
listening to Hashem, and doing the right thing. I immediately
wondered why the phrase “in his generations” was used. How is your
righteousness connected to your generation? In the commentary, one of the
main explanations was that he was a good man despite being surrounded by a
horrid culture. He would have been better if he lived in a better time.
Another explanation was that he was only good compared to the other people
of his time. This further says that the goodness of a person is measured
in comparison to his/her peers.
To me,
neither explanation seemed quite right. I thought it might mean that Noah
had morals that were good (and he listened to Hashem and did good
deeds…), but in comparison to his generation they were perfect. Later in
the portion Hashem says to Noah “…for it is you that I have seen to
be righteous before Me in this generation.” Again I was faced with
the emphasis on the generation. I read the rest of the portion again and
thought about a different man in a different time. Abraham, when faced
with a situation much like Noah’s, pleaded with Hashem for the
lives of the people rather than just listening to him as Noah did. I
think Abraham’s behavior was better. Still, I don’t think Noah would have
been considered an ordinary, insignificant man in any generation. Even if
Noah lived in a better time, I think he would be considered a righteous
man. Without any expectation of being rewarded, he lived a life full of
good deeds, where he also listened to Hashem. He did not give in
to his surroundings. I also don’t believe that morality depends upon
circumstances. It is always important to do the right thing, to be
righteous, especially in the worst of times, even if you will get no
reward. Luckily for Noah, as for us all, the reward for his righteousness
was life.
Shabbat
shalom,
Thomas Hack
Oct. 2, 2010/24 Tishrei,
5771
Shmini Atzeret/Simchat
Torah/Bereshit
In
the beginning…
The first 5 Books of
the Bible comprise the Torah. Moses received the Torah on Mount Sinai in
the year 2448 after creation. The Torah contains 613 commandments divided
into 248 positive commandments – “Thou shalt” –, paralleling the 248 limbs
and organs in the human body, and 365 negative commandments – “Thou shalt
not” – , paralleling the 365 major blood vessels and tendons. The first
positive commandment is contained in Genesis and is addressed to Adam and
Eve: “Be fruitful and multiply, fill the earth and master it."
The Torah is written
in a very concise manner, and much of it is difficult to understand
without resorting to the Oral Torah (compiled to become the Mishnah in the
year 3949 after creation, and 120 years after the destruction of the
Second Temple).
In Hebrew, the first 5
books of the Bible are also called Chumash, from the number in
Hebrew Chamesh (5). Each book in the Torah is named in Hebrew
after its first or second word, while in English, names summarize the
content of the book. The first book of the Torah is called in Hebrew
Bereishit that means “In the beginning." Bereishit, or
Genesis, tells, in its first 11 chapters, the story of the creation of the
world. Genesis's goal is not to give a textbook lesson in science, but to
affirm that nature was created by God. The Book of Genesis also includes
narratives related to Noah and the flood, the Tower of Babel, the story of
the Patriarchs, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob and finishes with the death of
Joseph.
Each week in Synagogue
we chant a passage from the Torah that is referred to as a Parashah.
The first Parashah is Parashat Bereishit. The weekly
Parashah is followed by a passage from the Prophets, which is
referred to as a Haftarah. The word comes from a Hebrew root
meaning “end or conclusion."
The Bible has been,
according to many, the most influential book in human history. Several of
its central ideas – One God, one universal standard of morality, care for
the poor, the widow, the orphan, and the stranger, and a holy day to
refrain from work - have transformed humankind. Despite its importance,
few people today read the Bible. It is never too late to start!
Shabbat shalom,
Mauricio, Marcia, Paul, Claire, Karyn Lisker
September 23-25, 2010/16-17 Tishrei, 5771
Succot Readings
This Shabbat is the
Shabbat of the Intermediate Days (Chol HaMoed) of Sukkot. The
Torah readings for Sukkot all have to do with the details of the offerings
made on the various days, an interesting topic in its own right. However
on the Shabbat of Chol HaMoed Sukkot we additionally read Kohelet
(Ecclesiastes). What is the significance of this reading in the context
of this holiday?
I believe we can
only understand Sukkot in the framework of the High Holiday season.
Indeed, the last day of Sukkot itself (Hoshanah Rabbah) is often
explicitly linked to Yom Kippur as the last opportunity to set things
right between Gd and the individual. Rosh HaShanah is often referred to
as the day on which we coronate Gd as our King; we accept Gd's sovereignty
over the whole universe, and over our individual lives. (This latter by
the way, since it affects us directly and sometimes inconveniently, can be
much harder than the former!) At this stage we acknowledge both the
existence and the primacy of Gd, the transcendent, ultimate reality.
However that reality is perceived as being outside ourselves as it were,
separate from our individual existence. This is of course a valid
perception if we are focused on our individual body and mind, as we must
be to some extent anyway.
On Yom Kippur we
take this a step further. Now we strip ourselves of our individuality as
much as we can. We don't pay any mind at all to the needs of the body –
no eating, no drinking, not much sense perception outside of the
prayerbook. We also don't pay much attention to our individual mind;
rather the day is spent in prayer, focused on the holy words that have
come down to us through thousands of years of tradition. Yom Kippur is a
day spent in the transcendent; the metaphor is immersing in a mikveh,
the ritual bath from which we emerge purified.
Virtually as soon as
Yom Kippur is over we have to begin preparing for Sukkot. The
agricultural aspect of Sukkot is the harvest festival, when we gather in
the fruit of the year's labors and rejoice with them. We are specifically
commanded to be joyful on this festival, and to make others joyful as well
– the poor and the vulnerable especially. In the liturgy Sukkot is called
z'man simchateinu, the time of our joy. However there is another
aspect of Sukkot, from which the holiday derives its name, and that is
that we leave our comfortable, and seemingly permanent, houses and go live
in makeshift huts for a week. And we read Kohelet.
For those not
familiar with Kohelet, it was written by King Solomon and discusses
his attempt to find something of permanent value in the world. Whether it
was wisdom or partying, Kohelet comes to the same conclusion:
All is vanity (hevel). Now one way to read this expression is to
emphasize on the ephemeral nature of material creation, and even the
subtler, more spiritual levels, which are also not permanent in the way
the transcendent is. This is certainly a valid reading, for the material
world is indeed ephemeral.
I'd like to take a
bit of a different tack. The word hevel at its root means
"breath." Just as a breath is about as ephemeral as you can get, so the
word has taken on that meaning. But there is another feature of a breath
– it is transparent (except maybe on a cold winter's day). And being
transparent, it has no clear-cut boundaries – a breath, as it were,
becomes one with its surroundings. Similarly the Sukkah – for a week we
leave the solid walls of our houses and live in a hut, a structure in
which the boundary between inside and outside is not so very clear. What
we seem to be doing is putting ourselves in a situation where either
physically (Sukkah) or intellectually (Kohelet) we are learning to
take the unbounded transcendent and to evaluate boundaries in terms of the
unbounded. That is, on Rosh HaShanah we acknowledge the unbounded, but as
separate from the world of boundaries. On Yom Kippur we internalize the
experience of unboundedness directly into our minds and hearts. Finally,
on Sukkot, we learn to view all boundaries as nothing other than
expressions of the boundless. Rather than understanding ephemeral in the
negative sense of impermanent, we evaluate it as ethereal, light,
permeable – something that doesn't block our perception of Divinity.
Instead of being a garment that cloaks and hides the infinite, the finite
reveals the infinite it all its endless possibilities of expression.
Shabbat
shalom,
Rafi Rabinoff
September
11, 2010/3 Tishrei, 5771
Ha'azinu
In Hebrew there are
many words for prayer; this alone should indicate its central importance
to living a Jewish life – a language reflects in its diversity and its
nuances the priorities of its underlying culture. How many slang terms do
we have for “money” in the US?! The one I would like to focus on is
avodah or service. When the Temples stood in Jerusalem, worship
centered around the sacrificial services, especially the regular daily
service (tamid = constant service). Our Sages tell us (Pirke
Avot 1:2) that the service, in the Temple is one of the 3 pillars on
which the world exists (the other two being Torah and acts of
lovingkindness). When the Temple was destroyed, the daily sacrifices were
replaced by prayer, and the name avodah was transferred to the
prayer services (this is where we get the word “services” from).
Now really, what
"service" can we do for Gd? Gd is infinite and self-sufficient and
doesn't need anything that is within our poor powers to give Him. Yet Gd
has given us commandments so that we will become sanctified and draw close
to Him, and know him in all our ways. In some way that we, as limited
human beings probably cannot fully comprehend, Gd takes pleasure in His
creatures' drawing near to Him and knowing Him. So the service we perform
for Gd is gradually to detach ourselves from the material world and
connect to the spiritual world, and then act as a conduit for the holiness
of the spiritual world to flow back into the material world. In this way
"…the earth will be full of the knowledge of Gd as the waters cover the
sea."
Now we can
understand why prayer is "service" par excellance. Prayer is the
most direct mechanism by which the individual human soul can connect with
the Divine. Through the inspired words of prayer, whether from the sacred
texts that have been passed down to us through the millennia, and which
serve as the superstructure for our prayers, or through the spontaneous
outpourings of our hearts, which form the spirit that infuses that
superstructure, we begin a conversation with Gd that elevates us and
delights Gd and brings fulfillment to Gd's original design of creation.
Now this is the
ideal. Most of us are shaking our heads at this point and asking what
this has to do with the reality that we inhabit. And the answer is, in
most cases, unfortunately not much. Why is this? If prayer is so
powerful, why do we come to synagogue and are not moved? Why, even when
we are at our most inspired, are our prayers sometimes, or maybe most of
the time, not answered? Are we doing something wrong, or is prayer just a
pious hoax?
Our Parashah tells
us with regard to Torah: It is not an empty thing for you. The
word "for you" is michem, which can also be translated "from you."
In other words Torah is telling us that if we find it empty, meaningless,
irrelevant, then we had better look at ourselves first. This is
especially the case with prayer. We have a tendency in our day and age,
and especially in the industrialized West, to seek instant results,
instant gratification. We think that if we do something a few times we
should be experts at it. But any performer, be it a musician, an athlete,
a surgeon, will tell you that the main thing in gaining expertise is
repetition. It takes time and it takes reps, to the point where, in the
words of a legendary magician, "the difficult becomes easy and the easy
becomes natural." Imagine that you had a powerful meditation technique
that was practiced twice a day. If you practiced it 3 or 4 days out of
the year, you would hardly blame the technique if the results were not as
promised. It's like the tourist wandering the streets of NY who ran into
Toscanini and asked him, "How do I get to Carnegie Hall?" Toscanini's
one-word response: "Practice!"
A different meaning
of the word avodah is “work.” To become expert at prayer takes
work. Although one may pray in any language, it is far better to pray in
Hebrew. Our Sages tell us that the words of the Hebrew language capture
the essential vibratory qualities of the object that the word references.
Therefore when one prays in Hebrew there is no disconnect between the
words we are speaking and the ideas our mind is to be entertaining. This
is not so, or at least not to as great an extent, in other languages. So
if we want to have success in praying, it would be worthwhile to learn at
least "prayerbook Hebrew." There are many programs available to help with
this effort; we need only supply the time and the motivation.
Perhaps the most
important thing we can do to make our prayer more effective is – pray!
Our tradition ordains three daily prayers – morning, afternoon and night.
Each of the 3 daily prayers has its own flavor, and when we get into a
rhythm of saying the services at their appropriate times, our days get
into a rhythm of connecting with Gd, perhaps only slightly at first, as we
feel our way through unfamiliar structures and unfamiliar sounds try to
roll off our tongues, but eventually growing more and more close and
intimate. Our holidays and fast days have special prayers, as do our
Shabbats and New Moons. All of this puts our lives in the same rhythm of
the weeks and the seasons and the years, slowly but surely attuning us
with the rest of Creation, and eventually with the Creator as well.
Shabbat
shalom,
Rafi Rabinoff
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