Tag: Torah Tidbits

I Friended God on Facebook!

I spent much time during my time in Israel, playing on and updating my Facebook page. I reconnected with some old friends and developed connections with some newer ones. There’s nothing like discovering an old friend and catching up again.

That’s why this is so fascinating. While in Israel, with the help of creative people from Hebrew Union College‘s library, I was able to “Friend” God.

Yup, the Holy One has a Facebook page. Like most busy beings – corporeal or otherwise – God hasn’t updated the page since, oh, just after Creation. Still, its quite a ego boost to be able to “friend” Yedid Ha-lam, the Eternal Friend of the Universe.

Check out God’s Facebook page.

Living Inspired: It is about Moving From Miraculous Moments to the Details

Ever been so inspired that you are ready to change the way you live your life, only to then get lost in the details? About this week’s parasha (Torah portion) Mishpatim, Exodus 21:1 – 24:18, my colleague Rabbi H. Rafael Goldstein writes: This week we see how we can go from the most significant event in our lives to living every day – by taking care of the details. We see that there’s a message here in moving from the BIG issues to the almost mundane ideas of how we are supposed to behave towards one another. We elevate the mundane into something sacred. Read on:

Last week we read the Ten Commandments. Everything in the Torah led to this incredible moment – our people standing at the foot of Mount Sinai, feeling the ground tremble beneath the Presence of the Holy One. Our people stood and freaked out as they heard the words of G!d not in the thunder, or in the blaring of the shofarot (rams horns) or in the pounding of their own heartbeats. They heard G!d’s voice telling them the Ten Commandments in a whisper, directly into each and every person’s own ears. G!d’s voice was the sound of almost hearing, as personal as a whisper. What an incredible moment!

That personal whisper into each person’s ears is the closest, most intimate, extreme, spiritual, and climactic moment of the Torah. How do you follow that most amazing of experiences? Although the words of the Ten Commandments are repeated, the experience was exclusive, once and only once. And it begs the question, “now what?” Where do we go from here? The rabbis didn’t want the Ten Commandments to be holier or more significant than all of our other mitzvot, to be the only rules people might observe. All of the Torah is holy, and all of the mitzvot are important.

We can find the rationale for this approach in this week’s Torah portion, Mishpatim, which seems to be a completely different experience. We have a compendium of about 50 laws. We have the judicial rules for how to handle and free our slaves and our enemies, manslaughter, kidnapping, insults, goring oxen, damage to livestock and to crops, arson, loans. We have rules for sorcery and for idolatry, and proper care for the needy, widowed and orphaned. This list is far from exhaustive. So, this week we go from our most holy moment at Sinai to what seems like a random list of rules.

But it’s more than just a list. It’s the details. This week we see how we can go from the most significant event in our lives to living every day – by taking care of the details. We see that there’s a message here in moving from the BIG issues to the almost mundane ideas of how we are supposed to behave towards one another. We elevate the mundane into something sacred. That’s not foreign to us at all as Jews. We’re used to taking the simplest acts – eating, drinking, seeing beautiful or ugly things, even going to the bathroom – as opportunities for praising, acknowledging or blessing G!d, ways to see the holy in our daily lives. We have blessings to help us see how holy the ordinary can be.

Sometimes we forget the importance and significance of the small stuff, the simple acts that might make real differences to others. Sometimes we miss the holiness in our own lives. We get so caught up in our routines that we forget that our time is holy, our acts can be holy, our lives can be filled with the spirit of G!d. The minutiae of this week’s Torah portion is a reminder that after the miracle of Sinai we have to pick up our stuff in the morning and go back to our daily lives, and what we do now is even more important, after Sinai, even if it doesn’t feel that way at first.

According to Rabbi Shraga Simmons, Maimonides explains this metaphorically as follows: “Imagine you’re lost at night, trudging knee-deep in mud through dark and vicious rainstorm. Suddenly a single flash of lightning appears, illuminating the road ahead. It is the only light you may see for miles. This single flash must guide you on through the night. So too, says Maimonides, one burst of inspiration may have to last for years.”

We fill our minds with Sinai, with the miraculous moment, as a light to guide us through the rest of our experiences. The peak moments are supposed to do that for us, to enable us to go on through the proverbial mud we find ourselves mired in. We can appreciate the light, the guidance, the flashes of insight we might get from the special moment, and we can turn our minds back to those moments to guide us and to bring us hope and courage when we need them most. All of us have those special moments that we cherish that have the power, in their recalling and retelling, to transform and guide us on our personal journeys.

May it be Your will, Holy One of Blessing, that we take the moments to find holiness in our day-to-day life, and to be aware of our blessings daily. May we find inspiration for today, and dreams for tomorrow, as we recall the most special moments in our lives. May the special moments help us get through our darkest hours. May the flash of Your light guide us on our journeys through life.

Lego Torah: Bible for the Baby in Us

Remember when legos were so simple all you could do was create buildings?

First there was Legoland. Now there’s Lego Torah.

Here’s some Torah study for the child in us.

The Brick Testament offers its rendition of the Torah using only legos. Its amazing. Each story has 10-15 different lego scenes with explanation.

From this week’s Torah portion, Miketz, here is Joseph interpreting Pharaoh’s dreams.

Thanks to the God Blog for bringing it to my attention.

Are These the 7 Years of Famine Dreamed by Joseph and Pharaoh?

More Torah cartoons at www.g-dcast.com

Hmmm, 7 years of plenty followed by 7 years of famine.
Joseph got it right and saved up.
America apparently didn’t. We consumed our riches instead of planning for the future. Where could we have been if we:

  • produced energy efficient automobiles (now we are bailing out the car companies)
  • provided real oversight of Wall Street (now we are tossing bad money after good to bail them out)
  • regulating the mortgage industry (now we are watching the house of cards come tumbling down)
  • curbed greenhouse gases (now we are watching the glaciers melt and…)

Unlike Pharaoh and Joseph, we let greed about “I want to enjoy it now” overwhelm the urge/need to plan for the future.

The Most Important Man in the Torah?

My colleague David Vorspan, Rabbi in Residence at New Community Jewish High School, provided me with my most meaningful Torah insight on vayeshev this morning. On his blog, he writes:

The Most Important Man in the Torah?

Who is the most important person? Perhaps it is the unidentified man in this week’s torah portion, Vayeshev (see Genesis 37:15). Joseph is in search of his brothers who are tending to their flocks. Joseph was told by his father they were in Shechem, but when he arrives, they are not to be found.

A man (unidentified) comes to Joseph as he is wandering about and asks who he is looking for. When Joseph replies that he needs to find his brothers and had this man seen them, the stranger says, “They have gone from here, for I heard them say: Let us go to Dothan.”

Had this man not directed Joseph to the correct location, Joseph would have returned to his home, unable to complete his mission. And the rest of Jewish history would have been entirely different!

Joseph would not be sold into slavery. He would not become second to Pharoah. His family would not have come to Egypt in search of food. And remained in Egypt living the good life in Goshen. And been eventually enslaved. And freed by Moses. And. And….

It doesn’t take much to change history or have an impact on another’s life. Giving someone good (or even incorrect) directions. A gentle criticism. A timely smile. A supportive shoulder. A caring phone call.

Our rabbis tell us not to believe that fulfilling a big mitzvah will get us a bigger reward than for fulfilling a less significant mitzvah. We don’t know this to be true. And therefore, every act we do, big or small, is important.

Even something as simple as pointing and saying, “They went that-a-way.”

Torah Alive!

My friend, Rabbi Arnie Sleutelberg of Shir Tikvah in Troy, Michigan, reports that his congregation is about to celebrate the completion of a Torah they commissioned to have written. How amazing is that? According to the Detroit Free Press:

The project, called Torah Alive!, was started last year and includes the contributions of 500 people from the 750-member congregation; with the help of another artist, the individual members helped write part of the new scroll with their own hands, guided by his expert hands.”It’s an absolute joy to be part of this,” said Michael Silverstein, a Shir Tikvah member and co-chair of Torah Alive!

All involved say that scribing a Torah was both beautiful and meaningful:

“Her calligraphy happens to be outstanding,” said Sleutelberg, often called Rabbi Arnie. “We are receiving a phenomenal Torah scroll filled with grace, beauty and content.”

The Dec. 13 ceremony will feature many of the traditions seen at Jewish weddings. The scroll will be brought in under a canopy known as a chuppah, and there will be wedding music, the signing of a wedding document, the breaking of 35 glasses — even a wedding cake.

“We’re a very creative congregation,” said Rabbi Arnie. “The overriding intent is to create a holy convocation, both solemn and festive.”

How cool is that!?!

A Love Affair with the Holy Tongue

Today my kids join me as we choose a Hebrew script for the new Torah Congregation Or Ami will scribe next year. Picking a script is akin to picking a computer font: each scribe has a unique way of writing letters, designing the crowns atop them. Some more ancient, some more modern. Decorative or simple. Which is easier to read, which one is more pleasing to look at? Many people will offer input into the choice of the scrip, but there is a unique pleasure in sitting with my kinder (kids) – each of whom can read and speak modern Hebrew on various levels – as we harken back to ancient times to bring to life Holy Letters to life. It led me to recall my many encounters to with the Holy Tongue of our people:

I remember reading Hebrew from Torah when I became a Bar Mitzvah. Like all BM kids, I found it very, very cool to read without vowels, from our most sacred ritual object.

I remember sitting in my rabbi’s office – Gary Glickstein, then of Temple Sinai in Worcester, MA – secretly learning conversational Hebrew to prepare for an upcoming trip to Israel. I wanted to be able to speak the holy tongue like they did in the Israeli street.

I remember sitting in Ulpan – an intensive immersion Hebrew program – in Israel during my post-High School, pre-College summer on the Reform Leadership Machon. Daily, for three hours, we spoke only Hebrew, learning grammar and vocab. We read songs and poetry, stories and Eton l’Matcheeleem (a newspaper for beginners). It was frsutratingly slow, yet – in those in-between moments when I reflected upon it – so meaningful to learn to speak in the ancient language now reborn. I felt like I was walking (or talking) in the ways of Ben Yehuda (the early Israeli pioneer who, in his quest to revive the language, spoke only Hebrew to his family).

I remember making Rabbinical School in Jerusalem, learning Hebrew in its multiple forms – modern language, Biblical and Mishnaic varieties, Aramaic even (a Hebrew/Arabic mix, which was the street language and study language of Mishnah and Talmudic times). Whole swaths of the Jewish past came alive as I continued to crack open the basics of each Hebrew varietal.

These past years I have watched my children begin to call the Holy Tongue their own. The older two learned their Torah portion like you and I would practice reading an article in the newspaper. When my eldest and I together read (and translated) her parasha for the first time while I was running on the treadmill (since she already knew Hebrew, it wasn’t so difficult to guide her through this study). They work on their Jewish Day School Hebrew homework alongside Math, Science and English. Its just what we do. Hebrew is part of their/our lives.

Last January, during a sabbatical from the synagogue, I hired a Hebrew tutor- Belle Michael – to help me improve my conversational Hebrew. Paired with another course studying a Medieval Midrash in ancient Hebrew, I was immersing myself again. We meet regularly at local coffee shops – catch me Wednesday or Friday mornings at Corner Bakery or Barnes and Noble’s coffeeshop. Speaking about religion, life, children, politics – all in Hebrew. Sometimes I work through sermon ideas. Sometimes we read from an adult-level collection of modern Israeli anecdotes. I am so energized to spend one full hour rak b’ivrit – only in Hebrew.

How far have I come? I started reading my first modern Israeli novel in only Hebrew last night. I even smiled when my daughter – impressed as she was with my progress – noted that she read this book in ninth grade. Overnight, in my dreams, I recall thinking about the characters and ideas presented in the book. NOT sounding out the words. I didn’t struggle with the meaning. No, I was reading a modern novel in the language of our people. Truth be told, this version of the book was simplified somewhat for learners, nonetheless, I was reading a book in Hebrew. It felt like another momentous step on a long love affair with our Hebrew Holy Tongue.

I’m reading an Israeli novel. In The Holy Tongue, come alive again! How cool is that!

Everyone Does Better When Everyone Does Better

This from American Jewish World Service’s D’var Tzedek on Parshat Vayetze:

The bumper sticker on my brother’s car reads, “Everyone does better when everyone does better.” This statement brims with optimism: it is a vision of shared work and shared gain. Yet as I repeat this phrase, the terms begin to flicker: Is the “doing better” economic or moral? Who is considered to be part of “everyone”? Jacob finds himself part of a quotient of work and gain in this week’s parshah that helps illuminate the nuance in this slogan.

Jacob is a migrant worker. He flees from a dangerous situation at home and takes refuge in Haran.1 In this foreign area, he does arduous agricultural work for his uncle, Lavan, who assumes the role of deceptive and abusive employer. Because Jacob arrives destitute, Lavan easily takes advantage of him. From Lavan’s perspective, this presents a wonderful opportunity for economic growth, both for himself and for his community.

According to Midrash, the Haranites are cognizant of this exploitation. Lavan gathers everyone and reminds them that Jacob’s labor has improved their economic situation. “Do as you think fit,” the people respond. Lavan then announces that he will dishonestly persuade Jacob to stay seven more years. “Do whatever you please,” they say.2 The community tacitly encourages Lavan. They believe that their prosperity will be multiplied collectively: Everyone does better when everyone does better.

Millions of migrant workers today suffer the consequences of this thinking. They are exploited in much the same way as Jacob, and this exploitation is supported by the communities around them—either explicitly or implicitly. In Thailand, Burmese immigrants work long hours for little pay in unsafe, abusive environments.3 In the U.S., Mexican born farm workers toil in dangerous conditions,4 and many earn incomes below the poverty level.5 Powerful nations reap the benefits, gaining a flexible labor supply and avoiding social costs of health care, fair wages and overtime pay.6 Our country, and each one of us, depends on migrant work being done cheaply across the globe.

This system is possible because migrant workers, like Jacob, are perceived as marginal, invisible. They are not part of “everyone.” Because rights are not granted or acknowledged, the migrant worker has no recourse and must accept whatever horrendous situation an employer offers.

This story takes the optimism out of what I originally thought was a buoyant bumper sticker. Yet Jewish tradition responds. It condemns exploitation such as that experienced by Jacob. Deuteronomy teaches, “Do not oppress the hired laborer who is poor and needy, whether he is one of your people or one of the sojourners in your land within your gates.”7 Our tradition mandates that we not exploit workers—foreign or domestic. As employers, we must embrace ethical labor practices. Our tradition is telling us to read the slogan differently: to “do better” is to act in a moral way. In this case, when we act ethically, we improve ourselves: Everyone does better when everyone does better.

Secular labor law similarly concedes that treatment of workers is primarily a moral issue. This is evident in the language of the International Convention on the Protection of the Rights of All Migrant Workers and Members of Their Families (ICMW). This document focuses on human rights and “the inherent dignity of every human person,” rather than on economic concerns.8 Yet it is telling that only 27 countries have ratified the ICMW, none of them major migrant worker-receiving states. Greed is trumping morality in our world. Migrant workers in our own country
and across the globe lack basic legal protections.

Unless we actively defend the rights of migrant workers, we are as complicit as the residents of Haran in the suffering of others. We cannot expect the millions of migrant workers to be their own advocates—their situations make them highly vulnerable, leaving them with too much at stake. Jacob is unable to effectively challenge Lavan until he is independently wealthy, a mere fantasy for most migrant workers.9

From the perspective of economic greed, it may seem wise for us to turn a blind eye and let this unjust tradition of exploitation continue. But perhaps there is a reason it is our own ancestor who was exploited, a role that has repeated itself in other places in Jewish history. It is incumbent upon us to speak out on behalf of migrant workers, the collective descendents of Jacob’s experience, domestically and internationally.

Everyone does better when everyone does better.

This bumper sticker is not about imbalanced economic growth. It is about finding our own humanity.

NOTES:
1 Genesis 27:41-45
2 Bereshit Rabbah 70:19
3 Amnesty International. “Thailand: The Plight of Burmese Migrant Workers.” June 8, 2005.
4 The Department of Labor’s Occupational Safety & Health Administration lists agriculture as the second most dangerous occupation in the
United States. PBS, “On the Border,” NOW, May 28, 2004.
5 US Department of Labor. “Findings from the National Agricultural Workers Survey (NAWS).”March 2000.
6 December18. “Migrant Workers: Issues and Concepts.”
7 Deuteronomy 24:14-15
8 General Assembly of the United Nations. “International Convention on the Protection of the Rights of All Migrant Workers and Members of Their Families.”
9 Genesis 31: 38-44

Sam Berrin Shonkoff is currently the Jewish student life coordinator at Stanford Hillel. He earned a Bachelor of Arts degree in Religious Studies from Brown University and has also studied in Jerusalem at Hebrew University, Pardes Institute and The Conservative Yeshiva. Sam’s passions include backpacking, meditation, friends and family, writing, dancing and social action. He believes that mindful engagement with Torah can be a way for us to encounter ourselves and others more intimately. Sam can be reached at samshonkoff@gmail.com.

Rebecca’s Pregnancy Problems: Finding a Way Through the Pain

As we read in the Torah (Toledot, Genesis 25) about Rebecca’s pregnancy problems and the pain it brings to her life, I recall a sermon I gave during one of my first years as a rabbi. Talking about infertility brought forth a whole series of emotions: those who were dealing with it and were pleased to have their rabbi recognize it; those dealing with it who we pained to have to face their pain; those with kids who did not understand what was the big deal; those who thought the issue had no place as discussion on the High Holy Days.

I learned a great deal from that sermon: about contextualizing such issues, particularly about those that touch only a specific group – so that larger messages of healing and caring come through. Nonetheless, I remain aware that infertility is one of the most painful of issues we face.

Rabbi Natan Fenner, of the Bay Area Jewish Healing Center, offers this touching drash on Rebecca’s infertility this week’s parasha:

In the unfolding narrative of the first Israelite family, Rebecca and Isaac experience a period of infertility, followed by a difficult pregnancy. In the depths of her pain and fear, Rebecca cries out, voicing profound uncertainty and existential doubt (see Genesis 25:22). She is given to understand that she is carrying twins with vastly different personalities, struggling even in her womb and destined to part ways from their earliest days. Thus is the stage set for a life of conflict and irreconcilable differences between sons Jacob and Esau, which Rebecca will witness and try to manage as a mother.

Where can one turn when in the midst of overwhelming or long-term suffering? When facing a persistent family conflict; a chronic and painful condition; a seemingly bottomless or endless personal trial? Reflect on your experience, or with a conversation partner: In such circumstances, when the pull toward despair may be strong, what allows us to tolerate the pain and fear, to endure with some sense of hope?

Rebecca’s prayers to God are answered not with an immediate end to the painful experiences of her pregnancy, but she emerges with some clarity about what is happening (she is carrying twins); with the knowledge that some element of her suffering (the intense internal ferment preceding the boys’ birth) is finite; and with the assurance that God is aware of her condition and is in some way accompanying her in this journey (in the promise of the “two nations” that would ultimately flourish from out of her womb). While the text does not state it explicitly, we are left to infer that Rebecca finds a renewed sense of purpose and determination both during the remainder of her pregnancy and beyond.

Whether we cry out in the depths of our hearts, to God, to a trusted confidante, or out into the Universe, we are following in Rebecca’s footsteps. And when we have understanding companionship in response, we may be soothed, or strengthened, even as our underlying condition remains deeply challenging. Realizing that we are in motion, if only in our
yearning or in the expressions of our grief, can counterbalance a sense of stagnation or being stuck in an interminable state. Similarly, having a sense of direction for “afterward”, or having some confidence that aspects of our situation will eventually improve—even having the mental and spiritual space to allow for that possibility—can similarly bolster us as we “hang in there”.

Take note also: in response to the spiritual dimension of Rebecca’s plea for help and understanding, she connects with a new contextual frame and a part of life that transcends this moment of anguish. Like Hagar and Sarah before her, and like countless generations that follow, Rebecca finds strength in a vision of her place in the flow of life as she reconnects with the Divine and with a larger future.

May we, too, in our times of deepest fear and existential questioning, our wearying seasons of bleak horizons, our moments without apparent comfort, find ways to cry out and to direct our pleas where there might be a compassionate ear, an understanding heart, a spiritual perspective, or a Divine embrace; and may all who wrestle with despair receive the strength and support to endure and reach a place of greater fullness and blessing.

Eulogizing a Woman who Saved our People

This week we eulogize our matriarch Sarah. In this week’s Torah portion (Genesis 23:1ff), called Chaye Sarah (the life of Sarah), we read about the death of Sarah at 127 years old. Who was this woman who, as we say at every Jewish wedding, “helped build up the household of Israel”? Who was this partner with Abraham, about whom the Zohar (Jewish mystical text) says that Sarah’s agreement to go on the journey of Lech Lecha was necessary before Abraham could venture forth?

For her eulogy, let me read a passage from a page from Sarah’s (imagined) diary. Here she reflects back on what really happened behind the scenes during the incident known as the Akedah (the binding of Isaac):

I was still awake, lying quietly in our tent. Long before, Abraham had fallen asleep beside me. Ah, a moment of quiet amidst the frenetic activity of desert life. My mind began drifting, back to my favorite recollection, that of a fateful day some years back… I remembered the three men who had come to announce my imminent pregnancy with Isaac. Pregnant, after so many years? I actually laughed at them in disbelief until God reassured me it was true. God couldn’t have given me any greater happiness than all I have gleaned from my Isaac.

And then it happened. Abraham began stirring, and with a sudden jerk, he sat up and called out, “Hineni, Here I am.” He was talking to God. He walked out to stand beneath the stars near the camp’s altar. So I leaned forward trying to share in this latest revelation, as I had with so many others.

At first what I heard made little sense. Though I could only hear Abraham’s responses, I understood that God requested something involving our son Isaac. Abraham’s usually strong, even voice was filled with shock, then anger, and finally acceptance. I was intrigued, and sat silently to hear more.

I started listening more intently. For a moment I thought I heard the word “sacrifice,” but I had to be mistaken. As Abraham spoke again, his words came as a choking sob from deep within his throat. My body started to shake with horror. This was a nightmare! The Eternal One could not have requested that my husband sacrifice our only son Isaac. I was simultaneously incensed and terrified. God had given us Isaac. Why would God take this special gift from me now? And without even speaking to me directly! No, I must have misunderstood.

I pretended to be asleep as my husband returned to the tent. Through cracked eyelids, I watched him. I had never seen him so overcome with sadness, not even when we were commanded to leave the land where we were born, or on that awful day Sodom was destroyed. But I could see in his face that I had not been mistaken. He truly believed that God wanted him to sacrifice our son.

I wanted to hold Abraham in my arms, to cry with him, to help him rethink what God had said, to convince him to speak to God, but his eyes were distant and I was scared. I had been excluded from hearing God’s voice and for the first time I felt powerless to involve myself in what had passed between Abraham and God. For a moment I wondered if this strange command was my punishment. Had I done something so evil to deserve the loss of my only son? One thing I knew. I would give up my life before I would let Isaac be harmed.

Lying in the dark, I was so tied up in knots that I could not cry. Abraham did not even try to wake me. Instead he had fallen into a restless sleep, as if struggling with an unseen demon. I could not bear to lie beside him any longer. I needed to escape. I needed to think. I could not believe that this God of goodness who created the world and who had given us Isaac would now take him away.

I started walking aimlessly, until I approached the camp’s altar where Abraham’s special knife leaned against one side. I began to tremble as I thought of the knife sliding against Isaac’s throat. I remembered all the sacrifices I had witnessed over the years, sacrifices that served as a sign of our commitment to and appreciation for God’s protection and guidance. Could God be looking for that kind of sign? Why would God suddenly seek reassurance of our commitment? Why now, and why involve Isaac? All these questions suddenly merged into one: if Abraham was so committed to obeying God’s command, did my concern matter at all?

I asked myself, “What did God expect of us?” I remembered God’s promise that our offspring would inherit this land and become a great nation. It had been many years since I thought about that promise. I had always assumed that Isaac and his future bride would follow in our footsteps as the heads of tribe, but I never considered just how he would inherit our commitment to serving God. Abraham and I were not getting any younger. If we were to pass on the Covenant to our son, it would have to be soon. Perhaps God’s discussion with Abraham was the sign that the time had arrived.

My heart began to pound. The future of our values depended upon our actions now. What better way for us to pass on that commitment than for the three of us to journey together, to meet God on a mountaintop, and to begin the transition of leadership to the next generation! God commanded a sacrifice so that Abraham and I could prepare ourselves to relinquish the leadership of the people, and Isaac could begin to assume this sacred duty. Abraham misunderstood God’s message. God did not want Isaac as a sacrifice. A sacrifice of the finest of our flocks was called for, not of our children. I now knew what I had to do. I had to prevent a nonsensical death, and ensure the perpetuation of our covenant with God.

I now understood that God wanted me to follow Abraham and Isaac to help them. Yet I wanted to allow Abraham the chance to figure out God’s intentions for himself. So I went back to bed and waited patiently for morning.

Abraham got up early, gathered his supplies, and announced that he was going off with Isaac. He did not explain why. As soon as he was out of sight, I prepared for my own journey. With my own supplies, I also took along the finest ram in camp. I was careful to stay out of sight on the opposite the side of the mountains. On the third day, before they woke up, I knew my time had come. I hiked up the side of the mountain, ram in tow. When I could no longer catch my breath, I released the ram and shooed it up the slope. As I watched it run up to the heights where I knew Abraham and Isaac would find it, I relaxed. Content at having ensured the survival of our people, I lay down in the grass and drifted into a peaceful sleep.

[Adapted by Rabbi Paul Kipnes and Michelle November. This midrash was adapted from a modern midrash written by Faith Rogow, which appears in Taking the Fruit, Modern Women’s Tales of the Bible (San Diego: Woman’s Institute for Continuing Jewish Education, pp. 51-56). It answers two questions: Where was Sarah during the Akedah? AND Where did the ram – sacrificed in Isaac’s place – come from?

Rabbi Sharon Brous on Religulous: “Defying Despair: Why I Believe”

Have you seen the movie Religulous by Bill Maher? My colleague Rabbi Sharon Brous of Ikar (a social activist, highly spiritual, conservative-ish synagogue community) responded to Maher’s movie on Kol Nidre. She said:

I recently heard Bill Maher speak about his new film, Religulous (a made up word that combines religion and ridiculous), which offers a blistering attack on religion and the religious life. He argues that faith necessarily means a lack of critical thinking, that “to be religious at all is to be an extremist, [because] it is to be extremely irrational.” I understand his critique of religion. I understand the problems inherent in the notion of an all-powerful God in a world of brokenness and pain, of poverty and disease. I understand the damage that religious faith has wrought, the bigotry, close-mindedness and narrowness that is so closely identified with religious communities and ideology. I understand why smart, discerning people might reject religion so fiercely.

Later Rabbi Brous, acknowledging that there were plenty who misused religion for their own abusive purposes, says, nevertheless:

So here’s what I — a person of faith, an Exodus Jew — say to Bill Maher: Guess what? The God you mock is not my God. My God does not tell people to blow up buildings, oppress women, or even build gas pipelines. My God tells us to treat all people with dignity and love. My God does not advocate for the war in Iraq, or any other brutal conflict that separates people from their loved ones and treats human beings like “collateral damage.” No, the God I love demands that we pursue every possible path toward peace. My God does not make children sick, but gives them and their parents comfort and strength as they struggle with illness. Belief in my God does not free human beings to defer responsibility, it demands of us that we take responsibility. As the great Rev. William Sloane Coffin:

“It’s clear to me… that almost every square inch of the Earth’s surface is soaked with the tears and blood of the innocent, [but] it is not God’s doing. It’s our doing. That’s human malpractice. Don’t chalk it up to God. Every time people… lift their eyes to heaven and say, ‘God, how could you let this happen?’ it’s well to remember that exactly at that moment God is asking exactly the same question of us: ‘How could you let this happen?’ So [we] have to take responsibility.”

That most of the terrible heartache in the world is perpetrated by people — and often people who cloak themselves in religion — is a great travesty and a bruise on our shared humanity. But that is no reason not to believe. It is, rather, a reason to challenge, to reinvent. To search deeply within our traditions for the ikar, the sacred essence that is truly at the heart of our faith that compels us to engage one another not with condescension and brutality, but with respect and compassion.

Read Rabbi Sharon Brous’ complete Yom Kippur Kol Nidre sermon here. And thanks to Rabbi Eric Berk for bringing this wonderful sermon to my attention.

During Economic Crisis, a Sukkot Lesson of Hope

My colleague, Rabbi Aliza Berk of the Bay Area Healing Center, poignantly illuminates the lessons that the festival of Sukkot bring to bear on the fragility we all are feeling during this economic crisis and recession:

Now we are celebrating the Fall harvest and pilgrimage festival of Sukkot; and the focus of the holiday shifts from the synagogue to the home. Sukkot is also known as zeman simhataynu, the festival of our rejoicing. It is a time to count our blessings. Sukkot comes to teach us to appreciate what we have and to hold our loved ones close. A sukkah is a temporary hut with a leafy roof used for Sukkot holiday meals, similar to the huts built during harvest season in ancient times. The sukkah reminds us of the delicate spiritual balance between recognizing our fragility and vulnerability and feeling sheltered by God’s presence. This is a time to reach out to those who need us and are in pain and aching from the battles of life.

This last year, our country has experienced devastating wildfires, hurricanes, floods, and a major financial crisis. Many of us wonder how we can rejoice when our hearts are heavy, filled with fear about our future. During times of anxiety and fear, our rabbis remind us to focus on the words of prayer. One prayer that I always find very moving includes the words, “Ufros aleinu sukkat shelomeha” – “spread over us your sukkah of peace.” When I read these words, I feel a sense of calm and serenity. I imagine God’s loving embrace promising me shelter and protection from life’s challenges. I try to focus on the present moment and appreciate the gift of sitting in a fragile hut beneath a star-filled sky. Each of us can feel a sense of joy that in this moment life feels safe. Samson Raphael Hirsch taught that whether people “live in palaces or huts, it is only as pilgrims that they dwell, both huts and palaces form our transitory home. In this pilgrimage, only God is our protector and it is God’s grace which shields us.”

Why is the sukkah associated with peace and unity? There is a Hasidic teaching that observing the mitzvah of Sukkot draws down to this world a transcendent spiritual light. This divine light erases the differences between people and fills the world with an awareness of how we are all connected and we are all one.

On this festival of Sukkot, may we take stock of our lives, our homes, and the ways we organize our lives, and express our gratitude to the ultimate Source of our protection. May the Holy One of Blessing help us learn to fill our lives with acts of lovingkindness and look up in gratitude to the One upon which the sukkah of our life is based. May this be a zeman simhataynu, a time of joy, hope, faith and personal renewal.

© Bay Area Jewish Healing Center, Rabbi Aliza Berk

For more Bay Area Healing Center Torah commentaries, click here.

Rain as Reward? Reward and Punishment in the Torah

How do we modern Jews understand reward and punishment? My colleague and friend Rabbi Jocee Hudson, Director of Education at Temple Beth Sholom of Santa Ana, CA, reflects upon this question, which arises in the Torah portion Ekev (Deuteronomy 11:13-21):
This week’s Torah portion, Parashat Eikev, includes the theologically troubling second paragraph of one of our central Jewish prayers, the Sh’ma. In fact, these words are so challenging, the Reform movement long ago removed them from our liturgy. And, while the words are preserved in our TBS siddur (Or Ami keeps only , we don’t often recite them. What are these words that cause us so much worry? Deuteronomy 11:13-21 reads: If, then, you obey the commandments that I enjoin upon you this day, loving Adonai your God and serving Him with all your heart and soul, I will grant the rain for your land in season, the early rain and the late. You shall gather in your new grain and wine and oil — I will also provide grass in the fields for your cattle — and thus you shall eat your fill. Take care not to be lured away to serve other gods and bow to them. For Adonai’s anger will flare up against you, and He will shut up the skies so that there will be no rain and the ground will not yield its produce; and you will soon perish from the good land that Adonai is assigning to you. Therefore impress these My words upon your very heart: bind them as a sign on your hand and let them serve as a-symbol on your forehead, and teach them to your children — reciting them when you stay at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you get up; and inscribe them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates — to the end that you and your children may endure, in the land that Adonai swore to your fathers to assign to them, as long as there is a heaven over the earth. What can we, as Reform Jews, do with such a firm theological statement of reward and punishment (a theology that our movement long ago rejected)? This way of looking at the world (i.e. good behavior = rain) clearly no longer fits with our ethics and morals. I believe we must look past the simple (p’shat) meaning of these words and explore their relevance in our world today (d’rash). I believe that God, through the words of Torah, is speaking to us today. God is saying to us: If you continue to burn fossil fuels for your benefit today, without exploring alternative technology, you will feel the ramifications of your actions, as your weather patterns will change (droughts, hurricanes, floods, and mudslides). And, you will feel the consequences of worshipping the gods of “convenience” and “progress.” God is saying to us: If you continue to produce “new seeds” and use dangerous, poisonous chemicals and fertilizers, planting without concern for native environments or the needs of local populations, you will experience hunger and create inarable land. And, you will feel the consequences of not researching the possibilities of locally grown produce, organic growing, subsistent farming, or alternative theories of agriculture. God is saying to us: If you continue to strip the land bare of old growth trees and pay no heed to your efforts at deforestation, you will experience mudslides and climate change. And, you will feel the consequences of not treating the land with respect. I fear that we, as a world collective, have begun to believe that we are no longer subject to the Divine laws of the elements. We have begun to imagine that we are no longer intimately connected to the land and her rhythms. We have begun to believe that the intricate, Divinely controlled relationship between human actions and needed rainfall no longer apply to us. We have begun to believe that we no longer need God’s commandments. This year, as we read these timeless words of Deuteronomy, let us return to our God — to the cautions we were long ago commanded to impress upon our hearts. We learn in this week’s parashah that we cannot compartmentalize our actions. The way we treat our planet is the way we treat our God is the way we treat ourselves. On this Shabbat, let us hear Torah anew. On this Shabbat, let us recommit ourselves to enduring — and even thriving — in our land.

For Those Dealing with Chronic Illness: A Prayer for Persisting

In her article, Prayer for Persisting: Moving Beyond Mi Shebeirach, my colleague Rabbi Julie Pelc, Assistant Director of the Kalsman Institute on Judaism and Health, reflects upon facing the constant long term of chronic illness:

During Rabbinic school, I spent more time in doctor’s offices than in seminary classrooms. Whereas it was initially an acute illness (for which the traditional misheberach and prayers in hopes of a “refuah shleima” would have been appropriate), the years of recovery and the resulting, permanent disability ensuring thereafter no longer qualified for such a hope or wish.

She thinks about the many who are with incomplete health, yet, are not entirely “sick” either:

I think of my coworker with diabetes, a friend with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, an aunt struggling with chronic clinical depression, a classmate with lupus and ulcerative colitis and an acquaintance living with HIV. I think of my own incomplete recovery. To pray for “complete healing” for those whose ailments cannot or will not ever be completely “healed” seems audacious and even offensive. My coworkers, colleagues, family, friends, and I will negotiate medications, medical appointments, dietary needs, and fears throughout our lives. We will face unexpected side effects, professional and personal repercussions of our special needs, and stigma from many well-meaning strangers every day. Our everyday reality is one of incomplete health; yet, we are not entirely “sick”, either.

She offers a new kind of Mi Shebeirach, a prayer for a different kind of healing:

To pray for the “complete healing of body and spirit” is to misjudge the realties of many people’s lives. To understand or redefine “healing” as “making peace with one’s fate” is to alter the meaning of the prayer and it may also serve to ignore our specific kind of suffering and its ever-changing realities… We need a prayer that acknowledges the reality of chronic illness. We need a prayer that asks God for the strength to persist even in the face of challenges that may seem insurmountable. We need a prayer asking that we be granted the courage to continue in life even as we face the reality of our death; to rage and to praise, to bless and to curse, to accept and to reject diagnoses simultaneously.

Her prayer:

“May the One who blessed our fathers and our mothers, bless _______ son/daughter of _______: strengthen his/her heart and raise up his/her hand, with the blessings you gave to Yaakov, to Yonatan and David, to Daniel the Prophet, to Tamar mother of Peretz, to Miriam the Prophetess, and to Naomi.
May God give to him/her grace, compassion and loving-kindness; love, harmony, peace, and companionship. Speedily, Adonai our God, hear our voices, take up our prayers, and watch over his/her life-force, spirit, and soul. With respect to your power, your loving-kindness, and your great compassion, behold we say to him/her: be strong and of good courage . Spread over us all Your shelter of peace. And let us say: Amen.”

Why these Biblical ancestors?

Rabbi Pelc writes:

  • Jacob struggled with an invisible being in the night, emerging with a limp. He would not cease his wrestling until he also emerged with a blessing from his adversary.
  • Jonathan was the rightful inheritor of his father’s (King Saul’s) throne but desired instead to yield leadership to his beloved friend, David. Because he refused to abandon his deeply held convictions, he fought against his father and died in battle defending his companion and his beliefs.
  • David (King David) is perhaps best known for his battle against the giant, Goliath, though the odds were firmly not in his favor.
  • Daniel’s enemies threw him into the lion’s den, by order of the king.
  • Tamar was twice widowed, childless, and then denied remarriage by her father-in-law because he feared that she would somehow cause the death of a third husband, were she to be allowed to marry again.
  • Miriam was struck with a skin disease, tzarraat, which forced her to live outside the camp until she was healed.
  • Naomi lost her husband and both her sons in quick succession in a foreign land. She cried out, “God has embittered my soul”, feeling that she was left completely empty, devoid of blessing or hope.
  • As Moses passes the mantle of leadership to the next generation, he says, “hazzak v’amatz”, meaning: “May you be strong and courageous”

So often we are able to deal with the crisis of illness. We know how to reach out before or after the surgery or visit to the hospital. But when illness moves into the long-term – like Fibromyalgia, chronic depression, or…, we often do not know how to sustain our support. This prayer may help both the person living with chronic illness and the community as we try to change attitudes.

Read Rabbi Pelc’s full article here. Read my more complete teaching on this topic here.