Transitions

This chapter of the Torah includes several major transitions

• The focus shifts from the individual matriarchs & patriarchs to the Jewish people as a whole. 
• It’s the first time that the name “Israel” refers to the entire community in addition to Jacob.
• It also contains the first mention of the 12 tribes of Israel. 

What is the vehicle for this transition?  It begins with the Death of Jacob, which is the first time that the process of death is addressed.

Chapter 37:29-31 And when the time approached for Israel to die, he summoned his son Joseph and said to him, “Do me this favor, place your hand under my thigh as a pledge of your steadfast loyalty: please do not bury me in Egypt. When I lie down with my fathers, take me up from Egypt and bury me in their burial place.” He replied, I will do as you have spoken.” And he said, “Swear to me.” And he swore to him.  Then Israel bowed at the head of the bed.

And shortly thereafter, Chapter 48:1-2 “Some time afterward, Joseph was told. “Your father is ill.” So he took with him his two sons, Manasseh and Ephraim.  When Jacob was told, “Your son Joseph has come to see you, Israel summoned his strength and sat up in bed.”

Both of these were conversations which took place between Jacob and Joseph only.  Jacob proceeds to tell Joseph who among his sons will inherit and what it is they will inherit.

After he tells Joseph how things will be, Jacob turns his attention to Joseph’s sons, who had accompanied him but remained silent during the preceding conversation.  Israel asked, “Who are these?” And Joseph said to his father, “They are my sons, whom God has given me here.” (Chapter 48:9-10)

• Didn’t Israel just adopt them?  How is it possible that he didn’t recognize them?  Some commentators suggest that he didn’t recognize his grandsons, because they were indistinguishable from other Egyptian youth. 
• Tradition has it that Manasseh and Ephraim reassured their Grandfather about their connection to the Israelites by reciting the Sh’ma and thus affirming their belief in the same God as their ancestors. 
• So Israel bestows his blessing on each of them. I’ve often wondered whether he blessed his young, assimilated grandsons out of conviction that they would continue to practice Jewish life…. or out of a deep hope that they would.
• The issue of assimilation, then, is one that appears throughout our people’s story.  Grandparents often wonder whether their grandchildren will continue to be Jewish.  But what exactly does “be Jewish” mean? 
• Rabbi Laura Geller asks why we bless our sons in the name of Ephraim and Manasseh. Perhaps, she says, "because these are the first two siblings in the Bible who do not fight. With Ephraim and Manasseh, the family pathology that unfolds in the Book of Genesis, in which siblings struggle with each other, finally comes to an end. They teach us that we do not have to fight over blessings: there are enough of them to go around."⁴ Source: Rabbi Laura Geller quoted by Rabbi Charles A. Kroloff (https://reformjudaism.org/learning/torah-study/va-ychi/how-shall-we-bless-those-who-come-after-us) 

So we have 2 significant changes addressed here – one of descendants living among non-Jews; and one showing a change in family dynamics – brothers who don’t fight.

And then Jacob calls all his sons to him. 

He describes each son’s behavior and predicts what will happen to that son and his descendants. This section contains examples of both dysfunctional behavior – AND behavior to emulate.

• Jacob continues to show favoritism to Joseph by giving his sons each a full share in his inheritance
• Just as he cheated Esau out of his inheritance; he does the same thing by favoring Ephraim over Menasseh.
• The predictions about the future of some of his sons’ tribes focus on negative outcomes

But there are definitely some behaviors we can replicate in our own lives:

• According to one of the commentaries in Etz Hayim, even though Jacob is displeased with his sons’ behavior, "he does not curse his sons, he curses their unacceptable behavior.”
• Rabbi Edward Feinstein, at the American Jewish University, points out: “What's remarkable is that they're all present -- the beloved Joseph, the might Judah, inept Reuven, tempestuous Simon and Levi. All have a place in the family. Abraham had but one blessing: Isaac was chosen, Ishmael was cast out. Isaac had but one blessing: Jacob was favored, Esau rejected. But Jacob is different. Jacob finds words for each of his sons. Some of the words are encouraging, some critical. But each son is included. Each is gathered in. Each belongs to him.”
• And after Jacob’s death, Joseph is approached by his brothers, who fear that Joseph will be vengeful towards them.  Joseph declines to do so, saying that he is not God and that some good ultimately came out of them selling him into slavery.

Which brings us to the topic of legacy.

“Our legacy, impact, and ability to improve the world are only as strong as the values we transmit to our children.  We cannot ensure that our children will honor our memory, but it is up to us, like Joseph, to honor them by linking them with their past, and by giving them the responsibility and the trust to recreate and to reform Judaism in their own image.”  (unsigned comment, URJ Torah Talk site)

Like Joseph, we stand between our parents and our children.  The stories we tell, the customs we integrate into our lives, the behaviors that are an integral part of the fabric of our lives – all are significant aspects of the transmission of Jewish identity l’dor v’dor / from generation to generation.

What are some of the Jewish behaviors and values that we would like to help transmit to the next generation? 

In the Image of a God Who Can't Be Seen

The Torah portion for the intermediate days of Passover is Exodus 33:12-34:26.

In the narrative, these verses occur shortly after our exodus from Egypt, and after Moses ascends Mount Sinai to receive the two tablets with the Ten Commandments.  While he is gone, the people become frightened at his absence.  They plead with Aaron to make a god for them, since they didn’t know what had happened to Moses.  In response, Aaron tells them to collect their gold, which is then melted and used to form the Golden Calf.  Moses returns from Mount Sinai, sees what the people have done and becomes furious with them, smashing the tablets as he proclaims his anger. 

And then he turns to bargain with the Eternal to allow the Israelites to continue to live.  “The people have sinned,” he argues, “but forgive them or erase me from the record.” God sends a plague to destroy the sinners and tells Moses to lead the people to the land promised to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.

Moses continues bargaining with God. “Let me see Your face,” Moses begs, “You’ve singled me out to do Your work.  If You really want me to lead Your people, let me know Your ways. 

God is adamant:  “No one can see Me and live – you can tell I am with you by observing My goodness and My compassion.”

Moses persists.  God finally relents and tells Moses to stand in a cleft in a rock and God’s hand will protect him as God passes by – and then God will take away the protection of God’s hand and Moses will be able to see God’s back.  God repeats, “My face must not be seen.”

As we build a new relationship with someone, it’s typical for us to try to look beneath the surface to the real essence of the person we are encountering.  We look for all types of indicators of personality, values, and character.  As our relationship deepens, we often gaze intently into the other’s eyes, in order to glimpse the essence of who they are.  What is it they really want from us?  How do they really want us to be?  How far will this relationship go?

We are limited in our understanding of God because of our own humanity and because our language is incapable of describing the indescribable.  And, like Moses, if we try to fit God into our understanding – we encounter the same response: “My face must not be seen.”

And yet, it is a tenet of Judaism that we are all created b’tzelem eloheim (in the image of God).  How is it possible that we are created in the image of Someone Who cannot be seen? 

The Etz Hayim commentary reminds us that “in the words of the Hatam Sofer, we cannot see God directly.  We can only see the difference that God has made after the fact.  We can recognize God’s reality by seeing the difference God has made in people’s lives.”

Most of us can remember people who have “made a difference” in our lives – a parent or older relative, a teacher, a colleague, a student we have taught.  We look to our heroes – people who have made a qualitative difference in the lives of many by the leadership they demonstrated, the injustices they’ve tried to right, or the beauty they’ve brought into the lives of countless individuals. 

The difference they make, however, is not always readily apparent in the moment.  Many times, it’s only “after the fact” and upon reflection that we see the impact they’ve had upon us and others. 

Sometimes, we too are privileged to make a difference in the lives of those we touch.  Sometimes those differences are huge – saving a life; mentoring a student; donating generously of our time, money and energy to bring tikkun (repair) to the world. 

Other times, we’re unaware that our actions have made a difference – a phone call to a lonely friend, greeting a store clerk with courtesy, reaching over to hold the hand of a person in distress, letting someone else go first in line.  None of these actions (or others like them) are necessarily significant, at least to the initiator.  But to the recipient, they can truly “make a difference.”

By engaging in Godly behavior, we will help others (and ourselves) recognize God’s reality.

Questions for Discussion:

1.  Identify someone who made a difference in your life.  Who was that person?  What were the circumstances? How did knowing that person make a difference in your life, in your circumstances, or in the person you’ve become?  Share your story with someone else.
2. Identify a public person who you admire for the difference that he or she made in the lives of others?  What values did that person exemplify? What impact is still being felt as a result of her or his actions?
3. Think about some of the values that you consider important.  What everyday actions can you do to make a difference in someone else’s life?

Published by the Washington Jewish Week on April 17, 2014

A Religion of TIme

Parshat Bo is a familiar one to many of us – it contains a recounting of the last three plagues before Pharaoh finally tells the Israelites to leave Egypt immediately.  But there’s an interesting insertion between the ninth and tenth plagues. 

We read: “The LORD said to Moses and Aaron in the land of Egypt: This month shall mark for you the beginning of the months; it shall be the first of the months of the year for you.” (12:1-2). And then, even before the Israelites leave Egypt, the mitzvot associated with the observance of Passover are given. The narrative of the Exodus resumes at 12:21, with Moses instructing them how to prepare for the final plague: the death of the first-born of all Egyptian families.

Upon rereading these verses (12:1-20), several questions came to mind:  Why is the first mitzvah/commandment given the one that deals with the calendar and marking time? Why is this considered the “first month of the year for you” – what about Rosh Hashanah? Why are the mitzvot/commandments about how to observe Passover given before the event occurs?

On the surface, the response to the first question is very pragmatic:  in order to celebrate the exodus on the fifteenth of the month, one needs to know when the month begins.  But perhaps the establishment of a unique calendar including human responsibility for keeping time (declaring the new month after witnesses testify their viewing the moon at the Sanhedrin) is less a technical command and more a spiritual gift.

Rabbi Ari Kahn from Aish added another dimension to the discussion by saying, “Rav Yosef Dov Soloveitchik, z’l, explained why this commandment was given here, and now. The Jews in Egypt were slaves, and therefore lacked a sense of time. They needed to acquire a sense of time in order to be truly liberated, transformed from objects to independent people.”

It is our ability to delineate time which gives us both the freedom AND the responsibility to carve out meaningful lives for ourselves.  

All joking about “Jewish time” aside, Jewish time is an interesting phenomenon: it’s both fixed and flexible.  It’s fixed in that it’s based on the cycles of the moon – the waxing and waning that occurs every month on a predictable pattern.  We know when Sukkot, Purim and Pesach are approaching, by the moon’s increasing fullness.  We know when Rosh Hashanah, a new year, is here – just as we see the new moon.  Chanukah’s end is announced by the sighting of the new moon, as well (plus one!).

It’s flexible in that the days begin and end at different times, depending on the season and the latitude at which one lives. And we must acknowledge that it’s just plain confusing to have our days begin at sundown the night before- confusing only because we spend much of our lives removed from the natural world in which we live.  Our lunar calendar also needs to be flexible so that our cherished marking of the harvest festivals, dependent on the solar cycle, will fall on the appropriate seasons. And so we get that quaint phenomenon of needing to ask if Passover is "early or late" each year.

Why is this considered the “first month of the year for you”? Our tradition lists four different “new years” – that of the civil year, the religious year, the beginning of the tax (tithing) year, and that of the trees.  A number of commentators make the distinction between Rosh Hashanah as the celebration of creation, which applies to all; while Passover is the celebration of OUR liberation (think of the difference between January 1st and July 4th for Americans).

Finally, why are such detailed instructions given for observing an event which hasn’t even occurred yet? A number of commentators make the point that the Israelites don’t automatically become a free people when they leave the land of Egypt.

Rabbi Lucy F.H. Dinner, in the Women’s Torah Commentary, reminds us that “To be truly free, individuals need faith in their identity as a free people and in their own unquestioned autonomy.  As much as liberation is about release from forced servitude, it is also about the psychological and spiritual strength required to act according to one’s own will.” Liberation then requires individuals to “act as if” they are liberated – even if they don’t quite feel it.

The great modern philosopher Abraham Joshua Heschel reminded us that Judaism is a religion of time, aiming at the sanctification of time.  It may be a fair contrast to note that the Egyptian civilization enslaved people to build storehouses, royal cities, and perhaps some pyramids.  It was a kingdom of sacred places.  The new Israelite nation had to escape the boundaries of space created by human technology and architecture, and learn to use what Heschel called "the architecture of time" in which to build lasting "palaces in time" like Shabbat and the festivals.

We send our children off to conquer the world with a list of instructions and reminders about those events and activities which are important to us and, hopefully in time, to them as well. We adults who manage home and office schedules, the balance between work and rest, know how critical time management is to our success.  And we can see how time challenged people find it difficult to prepare for, and celebrate with calm and joy, holiday and life cycle events. So we can surely appreciate the tradition that notes that the Israelites leave Egypt with a prescription for how to cope with time for physical and spiritual success in whatever circumstances they find themselves.  It is a gift worthy of study and transmission to our children and grandchildren.

Published by the Washington Jewish Week, January 2, 2014

Passages in the Wilderness

This week's Torah portion is Parashat Chukkat  Numbers  19:1-22.1

Passages in the Wilderness

This week’s parashah – Chukkat -  includes a wealth of materials.  We read of the story of the red heifer; the disappearance of the well which accompanied the Israelites on their journey; Moses’ striking the rock for water to pour forth; and the story of successful military battles.  There is also an introduction to the transition of leadership from the generations of Israelites who left Egypt to those who arrived in the Promised Land.

In Chapter 20:1 we read, “The Israelites arrived in a body at the wilderness of Zin on the first new moon, and the people stayed at Kadesh.  Miriam died there and was buried there.”

Shortly thereafter (Chapter 20:22-29), Aaron dies.  We read that the Eternal tells Moses and Aaron that Aaron will be “gathered to his kin” for disobeying His command by striking the rock for water.  The sequence is described:  Moses and Aaron will ascend Mount Hor; Aaron will be stripped of his vestments which will then be worn by Aaron’s son Eleazar; Aaron will die.  When Moses and Eleazar descended from Mount Hor, “the whole community knew that Aaron had breathed his last.  All the house of Israel bewailed Aaron thirty days.”


And so the transition to a new generation of leadership begins.

When we study Torah, we are encouraged to notice what is NOT said, as well as what IS said.  In this single chapter, there appears to me to be a significant silence.  

Miriam died. There is no explanation of why she died or under what circumstances her death occurred, contrary to the later explanation given for Aaron's death.  There is no mention of mourning her, unlike the grief expressed upon Aaron’s death.   When Miriam dies, Miriam's Well disappears and the Israelites complain that they are dying of thirst.

And so I wonder:  were there no tears recorded for Miriam because her death was the first of the leaders' deaths? Or was it because it was easier to focus on the loss of that which she brought (Miriam's Well) than it was to focus on the loss of Miriam herself? Much of our own grief focuses on loss as it impacts on us -- "who will listen to me?", "who will rejoice in my good news?", "how will I keep on going?"

The Women's Torah Commentary suggests the following:  Perhaps they were so stunned by the loss of Miriam that they [the Israelites] were unable to express their grief directly.  Instead, they cried out against Moses and Aaron, projecting and transferring their grief onto Miriam's brothers.  Or perhaps they did not react to Miriam's death in such a way that would give comfort to her brothers.  They seem to care only that there was no water, and acted as if Miriam's death were unimportant.  We can imagine that Moses and Aaron were deeply shaken by the loss of their sister, and this may have been the reason that Moses reacted with such anger toward the people when he struck the rock, instead of speaking to it, as God has commanded.  In grief mixed with rage -- such a normal reaction -- Moses lashed out at the rock to produce what Miriam could have produced with only her presence.  (p 300)

As Moses' big sister, Miriam helped raise him: she protected him and watched over him.  Moses may have felt that he lost not "just" a sister, but a surrogate mother.  Did the Israelites (as a community) also see her as a surrogate mother?

For Moses and Aaron, Miriam's death makes all too real their own mortality -- in a way that the death of a parent or friend can't.  Someone who grew up in their home, someone of their generation, someone who shares their collective memories and growing-up experiences in a way that even a "best friend" can't -- if she has died, so too will they. For all that they have managed to accomplish, they are vulnerable.

And ultimately, after the mourning period, what do we have left?  We have our memories and the legacy that gets transmitted from generation to generation.  That legacy sometimes comes from the generation that knew the loved one… and sometimes from generations which follow. 

When I think of Miriam, I think of courage and joy.  That’s due in large measure to the song “Miriam’s Well” by songwriter and singer, Debbie Friedman, of blessed memory.  Debbie took a few lines from Exodus, heard what wasn’t said, and provided many of us with a new vision of the character of one of the pivotal women in our history. Without Miriam, Moses would probably not have survived. Or, if he had survived, would not have been linked to his heritage.

And that’s Miriam’s legacy:  nurturer, supporter, and joyfilled celebrator.  

Questions to consider:1.  What legacies have been transmitted to you by your family? How are they transmitted?2.  What is the legacy of various communities to which you belong?3.  What would you like your legacy to be?  What actions are you taking to ensure that legacy will be transmitted?

Mary F. Meyerson is the founder of Morah Mary Consulting, LLC.

You are How You Act

Parashat Va-y’hi  Genesis 47:28-50:26

This week’s parshah – Va-y’hi – contains the culmination of the stories of Jacob/Israel and his sons. 

As Jacob is on his death bed, Joseph visits his father.  Accompanying Joseph are his two sons, Manasseh and Ephraim.  Israel adopts them and, in doing so, elevates them to full status as heads of the tribes of Israel, thus ensuring that the land of Israel will be divided among twelve tribes. As he prepares to bless Manasseh and Ephraim, something interesting happens.

Noticing Joseph’s sons, Israel asked, “Who are these?” And Joseph said to his father, “They are my sons, whom God has given me here.” (48:9-10)

Didn’t Israel just adopt them?  How is it possible that he didn’t recognize them?  Some commentators suggest that he didn’t recognize his grandsons, because they were indistinguishable from other Egyptian youth. 

Joseph had married a wife named Asenath, daughter of Poti-phera, who was the priest of On – an Egyptian god. As a man of significance to the Pharaoh, it’s not surprising that both he and his sons “looked” Egyptian. 

Tradition has it that Manasseh and Ephraim reassured their Grandfather about their connection to the Israelites by reciting the Sh’ma and thus affirming their belief in the same God as their ancestors. 

So Israel bestows his blessing on each of them. I’ve often wondered whether he blessed his young, assimilated grandsons out of conviction that they would continue to practice Jewish life…. or out of a deep hope that they would.

The issue of assimilation, then, is one that appears throughout our people’s story.  Grandparents often wonder whether their grandchildren will continue to be Jewish.  But what exactly does “be Jewish” mean? 

When I converted to Judaism, over thirty years ago, I often felt that there was an invisible-to-me-but-apparent-to-everyone-else neon sign flashing over my head that proclaimed, “Not born Jewish.”  I was sure that others could tell – by my appearance, by my lack of Hebrew, by my uncertainty about whether to stand or sit during services – that I wasn’t “really” Jewish.  It took a long time for that “neon sign” to disappear from my consciousness.

What I’ve come to understand in the last 30 years is that what’s more important than appearance is my behavior.  Are my actions Jewish? Do they exemplify Jewish values? Do those values have a significant role in my decision-making?  And – no less critical – have I explicitly articulated those values to my children and to my students? 

·         We make a donation to tzedakah on days of celebration, because that’s what Jews do:  remember those who are less fortunate. 

·         As we step outside in the morning, we take a moment to say “Thank you” to the Eternal, because that’s what Jews do: notice and appreciate the blessings in the world around us.

·         We acknowledge the individual on the street, because that’s what Jews do: recognize that each of us is created in the image of our Creator.

·         We stop smoking, lose weight and/or [begin to] exercise regularly, because that’s what Jews do: take care of our bodies.

·         As we travel through life, when we spot injustice, we speak out, because that is what Jews do: continue in the footsteps of the prophets, telling truth to power and giving voice to the vulnerable.

Several years ago, I came across the following unsigned comment on the URJ’s Torah Talk web page for this week’s parshah: 

“Our legacy, impact, and ability to improve the world are only as strong as the values we transmit to our children.  We cannot ensure that our children will honor our memory, but it is up to us, like Joseph, to honor them by linking them with their past, and by giving them the responsibility and the trust to recreate and to reform Judaism in their own image.”  

Like Joseph, we stand between our parents and our children.  The stories we tell, the customs we integrate into our lives, the behaviors that are an integral part of the fabric of our lives – all are significant aspects of the transmission of Jewish identity l’dor v’dor  (from generation to generation).

Like Jacob, our influence may have to be exerted over multiple generations.  Today we may have to grandparent our third generation if family systems, economic pressure, and the distractions of popular culture inhibit the role of parents to enculturate their children on their own.

With this parshah, we end the book of Beresheit (Genesis).  As is our custom upon completion of a book of the Torah, we say “Hazak! Hazak! V’Nithazek! (Be strong! Be strong! And may you be strengthened!)”

And by the mindful choices we all make, am Israel (the Jewish people) will be strengthened.

Questions for discussion:

1)  Do you frequently find yourself making judgments about people based on their appearance?

2)  If people look at your behavior, will they see actions guided by Jewish practice and belief?

3)  What will your legacy be – for your children, your students, and your community?

Mary F. Meyerson is the founder of Morah Mary Consulting, LLC and the director of Gan Shalom Cooperative Preschool in Washington, DC.
 

Published by the Washington Jewish Week, December 27, 2012

Shabbat Veyetze

When I first read this triennial portion (31:17-32:3), my first thought was “darn” – all the good stuff is in the first two sections of the parshah: Jacob runs away, sees angels on a ladder, meets Rachel, works 7 years, marries Leah, works another 7 years, marries Rachel, works another six years, Leah has kids, Rachel wants kids, handmaidens have kids, Rachel has Joseph – and that’s before we even get to this year’s portion. As the teacher’s guide for this week’s parshah on G-dcast says,

“It’s hard to understand the significance of Vayetze without comparing it to a story of similar breadth and importance in our own culture: Gone with the Wind, for instance, or the first episode of 90210. In this parsha, we see the culmination of Abraham’s past with his future, and all his family fights; Vayetze sets the stage for all the future family battles, as well. From here, Jacob’s twelve sons will start resenting Joseph, and fighting, which will cause the entire nation of Israel to move into Egypt and become slaves…But we’re not there yet. For now, think of this as the pilot episode for what is to come.”

Question: What foreshadowing or themes do you see in this chapter?

Rabbi Aaron Pankin of the URJ, refers to the two monuments Jacob builds during this parshah – one at the beginning of the parshah, after his dream; and one at the end of the parshah [in the section we read today] as Jacob begins his journey home.

On the level of p'shat (the simple, direct meaning), these monuments serve as markers of agreements––first between Jacob and God, and then between Jacob and Laban. On a deeper level, they create timeless memorials to Jacob's vast change and growth.

Jacob builds his first monument (Genesis 28:22) immediately after his famous dream of the ladder connecting earth to heaven, when he notes God's presence in a most unexpected place. Lost and alone, Jacob is the quintessential adolescent: He is alienated from his nuclear family and in search of lasting love, somewhat misunderstood by the world, on an intense personal journey, but not yet fully able to articulate his values and commitments. He still sees the world in the binary dualities of childhood: his land versus a foreign land; heaven versus earth; Jacob versus Esau. His world is black and white, but not yet gray.

And so, Jacob arrives at his second monument in flight once again. This time Jacob's pursuer catches him, and Jacob is ready to stand up to him. This time, instead of mismanaging his human relationships and making an agreement solely with God,
Jacob reaches an agreement with Laban. This second monument represents the newly adult Jacob, who, in a more spotted, more speckled, far-grayer way, is able to maturely and honestly coexist with those around him, despite their differing ideals and desires. Jacob shows us that God is in that place, too. But this time, he knows it as an adult and gives us a powerful model for the mediation of competing ideals and desires in our own adult religious lives.

Rabbi Kerry Olitsky says:

Social psychologist and researcher Bethamie Horowitz has taught us through her work that Jewish identities are not static. Rather, like Jacob, our identities are reflective of our journeys. They continue to evolve throughout our lives. And the shortcoming of research is that it usually only gives us a snapshot of the population under study at any one moment in time. As a result, it is difficult to draw conclusions for the future from them.

Question: How do we see Jacob's behavior/identity evolve during this parshah?

Rabbi Brad Artson, of the American Jewish University, asks:

How, despite the difficulties and the disappointments [of his life in Haran], did [Jacob] manage to keep on keeping on?

For Jacob that question became especially poignant as he left the home of his father in law, Laban. Having worked for fourteen years for his two wives, Leah and Rachel, and another six years for a share in Laban’s flocks of sheep, Jacob sees twenty years living in a foreign land, away from his cherished Israel, and away from his family and his childhood haunts. Only after the fact could Jacob allow himself to see the enormity of his struggle and the extent of his own inner exile and transformation.

In Chapter 31:42, Jacob responds to Laban’s statement that everything Jacob took with him was due to Laban’s generosity. "Had not the God of my father, the God of Abraham and the Fear of Isaac, been with you, you would have sent me away empty-handed. But God took notice of my plight and the toil of my hands, and He gave judgement last night." (Etz Hayim translation)

The phrase, “had not the God of my father…” coming at the beginning of the sentence is an unusual grammatical construct. Rabbi Artson quotes three understandings of the phrase which help answer the question, How did Jacob manage to keep on keeping on?

Ancestral merit is an awareness of being connected to those who preceded us. It is found in cherishing our traditions by living them in our daily lives and by transmitting them to our children and to their children. It is a sense of identity that involves the continuing stream of Jewish people, starting with Abraham and Sarah, continuing through ourselves, and extending to each new generation of Jews. The goodness of his ancestors gave him his sense of purpose, his vision of what could be, and the ability to work toward that distant goal.

Kiddush ha-Shem, the sanctification of God, is an awareness of spirituality and the importance of making God’s presence and love a pervasive part of our consciousness and our lives. Through prayer, contemplation, song, dance, meditation, and study, we sanctify God by focusing our minds, hearts, and souls on our sacred source. Acting in a way that reflects positively on God, motivated our patriarch to live up to his ideals, to walk in God’s ways even during times of sorrow, want, and fear.

Faith and Torah translate into a devotion to the mitzvot, the 613 commandments of the Torah as understood, amplified, and defined through rabbinic interpretation (drashot) and legislation (takkanot). By regularly acting out the deep wisdom of Jewish values through concrete actions, Judaism provides a pedagogy of hands and feet, a spirituality of pots and pans, a sense of fidelity to God that extends to every aspect of our lives. Jacob was inspired by his sense of God’s presence in his life, the pervasive holiness made concrete through the mitzvot, the sacred commandments that link the Jew and God.

On those three legs, ancestral merit, sanctification of God, Torah and mitzvot, Jewish life is assured and our Jewish lives are enriched. Holiness, wisdom, and belonging are within our grasp, able to sustain and to nurture us through life’s trials, even as they did for our patriarch, Jacob.

Or, as Esther D. Kustanowitz at G-dcast sums it up: "As Jacob learned: sometimes you have to leave home to find it."

I guess it wasn't such a "dull" section of the parshah, after all!

Shabbat Noach

Earlier this week, I was trying to get caught up on some of my internet reading and I happened across a blog written by a friend and colleague on Jewish Family Living. The questions she posed for families reading her blog focused on words. One in particular resonated with me: Why do you think God names things? What is the importance of a name?

I began to think of the names – the labels – we apply to the children we work with (whether our own children, or someone else’s) and the profound impact the use of those names can have on the individuals so addressed. I also was reminded anew how the use of names/labels – even when used privately, in my own mind and never spoken aloud – affects how I view a particular student. “Motor-mouth,” “whiner,” “naysayer” – all carry a connotation that’s best not even allowed to enter my mind.

Labels applied in frustration, anger or fatigue color my perspective indelibly. How much more positive are interactions with students that I describe as “eager,” “sensitive,” or “cautious.”

Those were the thoughts that framed my view of this week’s parshah. Beginning with “This is the line of Noach…” through the story of the world around him, his building the ark, the flood, the receding waters, the covenantal sign of the rainbow, the Tower of Babel, the listing of generations to the birth of Abram, and ending with the death of Terah (Abram’s father) in Haran. There’s a wealth of commentary on the story of Noah. Much less is readily accessible (ie, available online) on the remainder of the parshah.

This year’s triennial portion is Chapter 11 of B’reisheit. It begins with the words: Everyone on earth had the same language and the same words.

We know from our studies that repetitions are like flashing lights which say, “Pay attention to me!” I wonder why the repetition of “language” and “words.” They seem to mean the same thing. How are they the same? And how are they different?

The Big Question for this story seems to be “What’s so bad about building a Tower?” And in fact, our text never gives an explicit answer to this question.

Chapter 11:8 Let us build us a city, and a tower with its top to the sky, to make a name for ourselves; else we shall be scattered all over the world.

God, in essence, then says, “Well, if that’s how you’re going to behave, then I’ll scatter you anyway.”

But it doesn’t really say what specifically God was objecting to – building a city; building a tower; building a tower to the sky; or making a name for themselves. That’s called “Missing Information,” and all commentators can do is try to fill the gaps.

And so, over the course of time, a variety of “explanations” have been suggested:

• Rabbi Boruch Leff: When man can accomplish all that he wishes to accomplish, he does not need God. Witness that they left 'from the east.' The previous reference to 'the east' was to the Garden of Eden (Genesis 2:8). They wished to leave the closest possible place to God that existed then and wanted to forge their own destiny without God's assistance. They wished to build a unifying city and tower but specifically wanted to begin the building in a valley. Although the usage of a hill or mountain would facilitate making the tower as high as possible, they didn't want to use anything natural or 'God-made'. There was no room for God's involvement in their project.
• Louis Ginzburg, Legends of the Jews; "Come, let us build us a city and a tower." Many, many years were spent building the tower. It reached so great a height that it took a year to mount to the top. A brick was, therefore, more precious in the sight of the builders than a human being. If a man fell down and met his death, none took notice of it; but if a brick dropped, they wept, because it would take a year to replace it. So intent were they upon accomplishing their purpose that they would not permit a woman to interrupt her work of brickmaking when the hour of travail came upon her. Moulding bricks, she gave birth to her child, and tying it round her body in a sheet, she went on moulding bricks.
• Rabbi Matt Carl: The Torah indicates a second problem with Babel-esque development. It says that the people built the tower "to make a name for ourselves (Genesis 11:3-4).'" The builders had reputation and status on their agenda. The midrash adds that cultivating a reputation, "a name," is usually accompanied by inequality at the deepest level. Nimrod's project required enslavement of his people and abject inequality, all in the service of ego, arrogance and narcissism.
• Rabbi Avi Geller (in The Lively Parshah overview) writes: The descendants of Noah all decided to live together in the great valley of Babel. They appointed the first dictator and all spoke the same language (Hebrew, according to tradition). They then decided to wage war on their Creator. "We will build a Tower to ascend Heaven and battle the Almighty!"
  
  Others explain that they denied God's Hand in the Flood, and saw it simply as a quirk of nature. Thus it was imperative to build supports for the Heavens, to insure that they don't fall down again!

Most of these “explanations” – attempts to fill in “missing information” - are more or less familiar to many of us. I found none of them particularly satisfying to me, at this point in my life, in the year 5770.

I kept hearing the echo in my mind from verse 1 of this chapter: Everyone on earth had the same language and the same words.

Words … scrambled languages…. failure to communicate …

Within the recent past, in my professional life, there have been several instances in which communication between individuals became terribly mangled – feelings were hurt; frustration experienced; anger expressed at perceived slights.

Words….in the same language…scrambled meanings … failure to communicate

And then I stumbled across these words from Arthur Koestler, a prolific writer in 20th century Europe, a secular Jew, and recipient of the Sonning Prize at the University of Copenhagen in 1968 for “outstanding contribution to European culture.”

Language promotes communication and understanding within the group, but it also accentuates the differences in traditions and beliefs between groups; it erects barriers between tribes, nations, regions, and social classes. The Tower of Babel is an archetypal symbol of the process that turns the blessing into a curse and prevents man from reaching into heaven. According to Margaret Mead, among the two million aborigines in New Guinea, 750 different languages are spoken in 750 villages, which are at permanent war with one another.

As much as we focus on being part of one huge melting pot – or tossed vegetable salad, depending on your current frame of reference – sometimes our biggest misunderstandings arise when what I hear is not what you meant, even if I understand the words that you used. Our meanings become “babbled,” if not the actual words themselves.

So, for me, the message behind the Tower of Babel is to be mindful of the words I use – and to check for understanding as carefully in English as I do when I speak to my non-English-speaking friends.

Shabbat shalom.

Liberating Oneself

Part 4 of 4...

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS:
I. When people are slaves, they do what they’re told. Doing more than what you’re told to do may result in punishment; doing less that what you’re told will certainly result in punishment. Compare and contrast that behavior to the behaviors free people exhibit.

II. When you find yourself in a new situation (for example, in a new class or on a new team)

• do you find yourself worried about what the teacher or the coach expects of you?
• How do you figure out what those expectations are?
• If the limits seem too narrowly drawn, how do you respond?
• If the limits are very broad, how do you respond?
• Are you more comfortable when you know EXACTLY what the teacher wants; or do you prefer more flexibility the work you are able to do?
  

What insights do these questions provide for you in recognizing the challenges the Israelites faced in becoming “free” thinkers and do-ers?

III. Looking back over some experiences you’ve had, do you value more the things that you learned to do that came easily to you, or the things that you had to work at? What if all your experiences came so easily that you didn’t have to exert any effort at all? What if all of them seemed so difficult as to be insurmountable?


IV. Do you have a vision of the type of Jewish adult you'd like to become?

• What values will you adopt as core values -- those that will guide your decision-making?
• In order to reach that definition of self, what shackles will you need to liberate yourself from or what barriers will you need to overcome?
• How will you know when you're on your way towards becoming the person you want to be?
• What milestones along the way might you acknowledge or celebrate?

In the Haggadah, we read "B'chol dor vador chayav adam lirot et atzmo k'ilu yatza mi'Mitzrayim / In each generation, everyone must think of himself or herself as having personally left Egypt."

Many time, I believe that the questions we push ourselves to ask are more important than the answers we reach.

Chag Sameach. Happy Holiday.

Appreciating

Part 3 of 4...

At many Sederim (ritual meals to celebrate the holiday of Passover) one of the most enthusiastically-rendered songs is Dayeinu. In Hebrew, the rough translation of the word means, "It would have been enough!" The melody is lively - the chorus repeats and even young children frequently chime in.

Dayeinu
Ilu hotsi, hotsianu,
hotsianu mimitsrayim,
hotsianu mimitsrayim,
Dayeinu!

Had God brought us out of Egypt, and not supported us in the wilderness,
It would have been enough!

Chorus: Da, dayeinu! (3X)
Dayeinu! Dayeinu!

It would have been enough!

Ilu natan, natan lanu,
natan lanu et hashabbat,
natan lanu et hashabbat,
Dayeinu!

Had God given us the Sabbath and not the Torah
It would have been enough!

Ilu natan, natan lanu,
natan lanu et hatorah,
natan lanu et hatorah,
Dayeinu!

Had God given us the Torah and not brought us to the land of Israel
It would have been enough!

COMMENTARY
"Dayenu teaches us to switch from the mentality of always wanting more to being grateful for what we have." (Source: A Family Haggadah II; Shoshana Silberman; Kar-Ben Copies; 1997).


DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
I. When it comes to goal setting, so often we focus on the ultimate goal and forget to acknowledge or celebrate the steps along the way. When tasks seem too overwhelming, organizational and time-management experts counsel us to break the task into smaller steps. This helps prevent a sense of being paralyzed by the enormity of the task.

In your own life, identify some steps worth celebrating on a goal you are working towards.

II. What are some things in your life that you are grateful for? How can you incorporate a sense of mindfulness for those things into your daily life?

Questioning

Part 2 of 4...

What does it mean to have a questioning personality?

COMMENTARY
Have you ever had a really great teacher, a teacher who loved your questions, whom you could always count on to at least try to answer you? It's really hard to be a wise child unless there are some wise grownups around to help you.
~Joy Levitt (p. 49)

The wicked child might not be wicked at all; perhaps she is just expressing our doubts--what is the purpose of all this trouble that you put yourself through at Pesach? Are you really working for freedom? Annoyed at someone who give voice to our own fears, we react harshly to hide our feelings. The wicked child becomes our scapegoat.
~Michael Strassfeld (p. 50)

The word tam has many connotations ranging from stupid, to simple, to innocent, to pious. How would you define this child? Is a person who asks a basic question stupid or just young or curious? Do you ever hold back from asking a question for fear that you ought to know the answer, that the question itself is too simple? In the Torah, Noah, Jacob, and Job are all called tam. Does this mean they were pious or simple?
~Joy Levitt (p. 51)

Sometimes we are silenced because we become convinced that we have nothing to contribute or that those we might address do not want to hear from us. Sometimes we are silenced because we believe that what we say will make no difference or ever perhaps may make things worse. To come out of our silence, we need to recognize that people care about us and value who we are and what we can do. Each of us is sometimes silenced, and each of us can help end the silence of others.
~David Teutsch (p. 51)

(Source: A Night of Questions: A Passover Haggadah; Levitt, Rabbi Joy and Strassfeld, Rabbi Michael (ed); Reconstructionist Press; Elkins Park, PA; 2007)


Rabbi Israel Salanter says, "We have all the four children in each of us." (Passover Haggadah: The Feast of Freedom; The Rabbinical Assembly; USCJ)

QUESTIONS
I. What do you think the four different children represent?

II. How would you characterize their questions? What do you think they are really asking?

III. What are the four NEW questions that you would ask?

[Note: see my earlier posting on the "Four Generations."]

Remembering

Part 1 of 4...

Exodus 1:8 A new king arose over Egypt who did not know Joseph.

COMMENTARY

1:8 who did not know Joseph He was ignorant of or indifferent to the extraordinary service that Joseph had rendered to Egypt and the crown. He did not let the information change his outlook. Through much of Jewish history, the people’s well-being depended on the goodwill of a ruler. When the leadership changed, the fortunes of the Jewish community often changed as well. Pharaoh begins by refusing to acknowledge Joseph, and later refusing to acknowledge God, saying, “Who is the LORD that I should heed Him?” [Exod. 5:21]

(Source: Etz Hayim: Torah and Commentary; The Rabbinical Assembly; USCJ)

POSSIBLE DISCUSSION QUESTIONS:

I. This story begins with the statement that a new king arose in Egypt who did not know Joseph. For how long should someone’s meritorious contributions be remembered and affect the way his/her descendents are regarded?

Contrast this first statement with the frequent references in Jewish liturgy to the Exodus:

a. ani adonai elocheihem asher hotziti etchem mei’eretz mitzrai’im “I am Adonai your God who brought you out of the land of Egypt” (v’ahavta)

b. moshe umiriam uvney yis’rael leha anu shira besimhah rabah ve’ameru hulam “Moses, Miriam, and all athe Israelites broke out in song, abundant in their joy, and all as one, they said…”(Mi Hamohah)

c. zeher li’tzi’at mitzrai’im “[remember] the Exodus from Egypt” (Kiddush)

d. mi’mitzrai’im g’altanu adonai eloheinu u’mibeit avadim f’ritanu “From Egypt you redeemed us Adonai our God, and from the house of servitude you rescued us.” (Pesukey Dezimrah, Emet Veyatziv)

Why do you think that those who compiled our siddur decided to include so many references to our Exodus from Egypt?

II. Sometimes, when we frequently recall difficult past experiences, people get impatient and tell us to “Get over it – it’s done. You have to live in the present.” Is the emphasis in these citations on the slavery experience (an admittedly “difficult” experience) or on the liberation – becoming a free people? Share some thoughts on why it could be beneficial to remember the process of becoming a free people.

(Source: Oseh Shalom "Exodus" curriculum; co-written by Rabbi Gary S. Fink and Mary F. Meyerson; © 2004)


III. Think about a difficult time in your family's history which became a watershed event -- your family's story became divided between "before [the event] and after [the event]." Has the story been retold? Has it changed in the retelling? What "lesson" did your family learn from this event? Why is it important to remember?

Pesach: Putting Ourselves Into the Story

Back in the day (when I was teaching!) one spring I offered a 4 week elective for post-b'nai mitzvah students in the month leading up to Passover. It was described as an opportunity to re-examine four main themes of Passover:

• Remembering
• Questioning
• Appreciating
• Liberating Oneself

As I was engaged in my pre-Passover preparations this year, I found myself thinking about these themes once again.

Beginning tomorrow - and for the next four days -- I'll reprise some of the notes from my lesson preparations.

Hope they resonate for you, too.

Chag Pesach Sameach/ Happy Passover.

Lev B'Lev - Key Concepts

I’ve recently completed a regional program for fifth graders on tzedakah/philanthropic giving.

It’s the middle program in a three-year sequence dealing with “giving Jewishly.” Year One (for fourth graders) focuses on doing things to help others and, appropriately so, is called “Mitzvah Mania.” Year Three (for sixth graders) focuses on the work done by our local Federation which provides support for local Jewish partner agencies and (also appropriately) is called “Kallah,” which means “community.”

The Year Two program (for fifth graders), the one I worked on, is called “Lev B’Lev” or “Heart to Heart.” Our primary focus, as I said, was on giving money. The program was funded in part – as are the others in the series – by a grant from our local Federation. Part of what makes this program unique is that the fifth graders bring a dollar with them to donate to the organizations they learn about in the morning’s program.

The project design called for the following:

1. Development of three key concepts involved in deciding where to donate tzedakah.
   
2. Development of curricular materials which can be used by classroom teachers prior to the program.
   
3. Planning the program – organizing the structure, identifying the presenters, working with the hosting facility, purchasing materials
   
4. Communicating effectively – with the directors of the schools participating; the classroom teachers; the presenters; and the students
   
5. Analyzing and assessing the program upon completion.

As a result of my work this past year with the Mitzvah Heroes Fund, I found it relatively easy to decide on two of the three key concepts on which to base our program: Maimonides’ "Ladder of Tzedakah" and "Circles of Giving" (again, Maimonides).

The Ladder of Tzedakah outlines clearly Jewish responsibility for caring for the needy in our communities. Starting with “giving reluctantly and unwillingly,” one can move all the way “up” the ladder to “teaching someone how to provide for him or herself.” The particular point I asked teachers to make with their students is that giving tzedakah is a mitzvah, in the commandment sense of the word. No where does it say giving tzedakah is optional. Torah Aura has a neat instant lesson that we got for the teachers to use with their classes. Called “Rambam’s Rungs” (Rambam is another name for Maimonides), it provides students with an opportunity to consider where different scenarios fall on the tzedakah ladder.

The second concept addressed the question: “To whom do we give?”

This is an area of grave concern within the Jewish community: should Jews give only to Jewish organizations or should they give to non-Jewish organizations as well? Advocates come down strongly on either side of the question. Demographic data gathered within the last decade indicate that younger Jews are no longer supporting Jewish tzedakah organizations as their parents and grandparents did – many times with dire results for the agencies and the people they serve.

And yet, even in the days of Maimonides, we were encouraged to support the local communities in which we live, with the understanding that they were not entirely Jewish. I found some wonderful materials at JustAction, a joint project between Hillel – The Foundation for Jewish Campus Life and Panim – The Institute for Jewish Leadership and Values. I ultimately decided to include non-Jewish organizations as part of this program, basically for two reasons:

1) My belief that Jewish values should permeate ALL of our actions, including our involvement in the communities around us; and

2) the sixth grade program (see above) will focus specifically on the work that the Federation does by supporting its partner agencies.

The final concept I decided to focus on is one I’ve become much more adamant about as a result of my involvement as a co-founder of and the treasurer for the Mitzvah Heroes Fund. It also was almost a no-brainer in light of the publicity surrounding the shanda/scandal of Bernie Madoff: We would learn about “due diligence.” Just-Tzedakah has a wonderfully well-written guide called “Smart Tzedakah” (scroll down near the center bottom of the home page) which sets forth clearly things to look for in evaluating whether the organization one is sponsoring is a good custodian of the funds it receives.

In summary then, these were the three key concepts we based our program on:

• Maimonides’ Ladder of Tzedakah (How do we give?)
• Circles of Giving (To whom do we give?)
• Due Diligence (What’s "giving wisely"?)

Teachers were provided with source materials and some suggestions for implementation in advance of our program held on March 15th.

My next post will discuss how we implemented our concepts into the day's programming.

Pearls from Pain

a drash

Several weeks ago, our congregation had its annual “Disability Awareness Shabbat.” Instead of a specific d’var torah/”words on the torah” (aka “sermon”), a congregant gave a drash/teaching on her experience as the parent of a child with multiple disabilities. Her children are about the same age as ours (mid- to late-twenties) and I’ve known her “somewhat” since we were much younger parents.

She spoke about the journey that she and her husband have been on since her child which diagnosed within a couple of weeks after birth with viral encephalitis – and the changes resulting from it: cognitively and physically.

She spoke eloquently about the grieving process that she and her husband went through:

The inevitable questions of how and why this could have happened as well as the anger and sadness took time to work through. Any person who has ever experienced a loss understands these emotions and can appreciate what it takes to deal with these feelings. Fortunately, we had a strong relationship and we understood the importance of finding something positive in dealing with this life altering experience. We also understood that our attitude towards our child would influence our [other] children’s attitude as well.

She spoke about the caring people along their journey who supported them; people who cared for their child and chose to establish their own relationship with him.

Even though there have been many caring people and her child – now an adult – has been able to have a quality of life surpassing that which was originally projected, my friend admitted:

All this being said, having a child like ours does not diminish the challenge and sometimes isolation we feel as parents. We have developed some wonderful friendships with other families who parent a child with special needs. It is within this community that we can share our experiences and know that we are not alone and can help one another.

She ends her drash by quoting from My Grandfather’s Blessings by Dr Naomi Reden.

In her book, she describes an oyster as being soft, tender, and vulnerable. Without the sanctuary of its shell it could not survive. But oysters must open their shells in order to “breathe” water. Sometimes while an oyster is breathing, a grain of sand will enter its shell and become a part of its life from then on.

Such grains of sand cause pain, but an oyster does not alter its soft nature because of this. It does not become hard and leathery in order not to feel. It continues to entrust itself to the ocean, to open and breathe in order to live. But it does respond. Slowly and patiently, the oyster wraps the grain of sand in thin translucent layers until, over time, it has created something of great value in the place where it is most vulnerable to its pain. A pearl might be thought of as an oyster’s response to its suffering. Not every oyster can do this. Oysters that do are more valuable to people than oysters that do not.

Sand is a way of life for an oyster. If you are soft and tender and must live on the sandy floor of the ocean, making pearls becomes a necessity if you are to live well.

She ends with her own bit of wisdom:

Disappointment and loss are a part of every life. Many times we can put such things behind us and get on with the rest of our lives. But not everything is amendable to this approach. Some things are too big or too deep to do this, and we will have to leave important parts of ourselves behind if we treat them in this way. These are the places where wisdom begins to grow in us. It begins with suffering that we do not avoid or rationalize or put behind us. It starts with the realization that our loss, whatever it is, has become a part of us and has altered our lives so profoundly that we cannot go back to the way it was before.

Something in us can transform such suffering into wisdom. The process of turning pain into wisdom often looks like a sorting process. First we experience everything. Then one by one we let things go, the anger, the blame, the sense of injustice, and finally even the pain itself, until all we have left is a deeper sense of the value of life and a greater capacity to live it.

It is with this thought that I believe our child has become my pearl.

I learned a lot that morning, listening to my friend share her pearls of wisdom with all of us. I especially like the acknowledgement that it's not always possible to "put it behind me and move on."... that feelings need to be experienced honestly before one can begin to let them go. And yet, over time, it is possible to value and life life more deeply and completely.

Wow.

Shabbat Yitro

A friend gave the d’var Torah this past week on the parshah Yitro/ Jethro. He made a number of good points. There were two that really resonated with me.

The context for the first was Yitro’s arrival at Moses’ tent. Moses was occupied with settling all the disagreements between the Israelites. Yitro – his father-in-law – arrives and sees Moses’ exhaustion and also the trouble brewing while the Israelites are waiting in line (in the heat) to speak to Moses. He offers Moses some unsolicited advice, which involves establishing a process in which disagreements are settled by judges appointed by Moses, with only those issues that cannot be resolved ultimately making their way through an appeals process to Moses.

My friend comments:

I believe there are a number of aspects in the way that Jethro counseled Moses that allowed Moses to make the right decision.

The first thing that Jethro did was to let Moses know he was advising him out of a sense of concern for Moses, his daughter and grandchildren and for all the people of Israel. Sometimes, when we are offered advice by others, we can become suspicious of their motives. Jethro never suggests that he should take on some of the burden off of Moses’ shoulders. Jethro doesn’t nominate himself or anyone else by name to fill the role of a judge.

Jethro never questions his son-in-law’s wisdom or his leadership abilities. Often, when we are given unsolicited advice, we can become defensive and look upon the advice offered as criticism.

Jethro tells his son-in-law that he should follow his advice only if G-d commands him to. Jethro understood that Moses had a very special relationship with G-d and that anything that Moses did or said was done with the guidance of G-d.

His comments made me wonder if I am as respectful when I offer unsolicited advice.

The second point my friend made discusses the juxtaposition in this parsha of Yitro offering unsolicted advice and the Israelites receiving the Ten Commandments at Mount Sinai.

He finishes his d'var Torah by saying:

To me, the one word that best sums up what happened at Mount Sinai is the word “miracle”. The transmission of the Ten Commandments not only changed the lives of all those who were physically there to witness it, not only did it have an impact on later generations of Jews that cannot be over-stated but it also represents one of the most important events in all of human history.

So, why is this incredible moment in the history of our people preceded by something as seemingly ordinary as a father-in-law offering advice to his son-in-law? I believe that the Torah is teaching us that we, as people, help to make miracles possible, in part, when we offer to help one another.

In other words, while G-d is entirely responsible for the miracles we read about in the Torah and for the miracles we have witnessed in every generation since then, we as humans are responsible for maintaining a world that is conducive to G-d’s miracles and blessings.

We are responsible for maintaining a world that is conducive to miracles and blessings. It's a powerful (and empowering) concept.

Shauvah tov - a good week.

Torah Study on Shabbat Bo

I'm facilitating the weekly Torah Study session at Tikvat Israel this coming Shabbat. Here's an excerpt from what I'm planning:

A number of the commentators mentioned that this week’s selection includes the first mitzvot – commandments – that the Israelites received. Many focused on the new year – and compared it or contrasted it with the observance of Rosh Hashanah. Rabbi Ari Kahn from Aish adds another dimension to that discussion:

But there is more to this passage that makes it unique. For one, we might ask: Why was this the first commandment? Surely God had at least 613 other choices. Furthermore, why was this Commandment given in the land of Egypt? Why couldn't the Jews wait until Sinai?

[snip]

Rav Yosef Dov Soloveitchik, Zat"zal, explained why this commandment was given here, and now. The Jews in Egypt were slaves, and therefore lacked a sense of time. They needed to acquire a sense of time in order to be truly liberated, transformed from objects to independent people.

The last sentence is key. It is our ability to delineate time which gives us both the freedom and the responsibility to carve out meaningful lives for ourselves.

Jewish time is an interesting phenomenon: it’s both abstract and concrete. It’s concrete because it’s based on the cycles of the moon – the waxing and waning that occurs every month, on a predictable pattern. It’s abstract in that the days begin and end at different times, depending on the season and the latitude at which one lives. And it’s just plain confusing when we acknowledge that our days begin at sundown the night before. But even those abstract and confusing factors are abstract and confusing only because we spend much of our lives removed from the concreteness of the natural world in which we live.

The parshah goes on to specifically articulate the requirements for observing the Feast of Unleavened Bread. The verses outline when the holiday is to be celebrated, how it is to be observed, what work is permissible and what is not, and repeats three times that the Festival of Unleavened Bread shall be observed “as an institution for all time.” This specificity is in contrast to the more general directions of “observing and keeping holy” the Shabbat and refraining from all work. (Exodus 20:8-10).

Finally, I came across a commentary that helped me pull these disparate thoughts together:

Rabbi Stephen Baars, also on the Aish website, writes:

We Are What We Do
Sociology proclaims man to be a product of his environment. Judaism says man is a product of his actions.In this week's Parsha, there are 16 separate mitzvot concerning the Pesach holiday alone. All seem to have a similar purpose - to commemorate the Exodus from Egypt.

But the "Sefer HaChinuch" (14th century "Book of Mitzvah Education") deals with the Torah's seeming redundancy by clarifying a fundamental principle of Judaism... and indeed of life itself: "You should know that a person is influenced in accordance with his actions. His heart and all his thoughts are always drawn after the deeds in which he is occupied, whether they are good or bad."

Rabbi Bars continues:

Our nature, character, mood, disposition, temperament, attitude, and sensitivities are formed by our day-to-day activities. Of course, this "shaping" of our nature is not just affected by the actual actions of our job. It is also affected by what we do the remainder of the day as well! What books we read, if we exercise, how we drive, talk, eat... Every single action, in some very real way, affects the kind of person we are... just as the act of theft is what makes the criminal.

No action is irrelevant. They all change who we are, pulling the strings and levers of our emotions and thoughts. On some imperceptible level, every miniscule action affects different aspects of our nature - from our self-confidence to our peace of mind.

The influence of most actions are difficult (if not impossible) to detect. But anyone who cares about their character will investigate carefully the various values and influences of his actions.

Don't go through life unaware of how you are changing yourself. Start now on a course of self-awareness. Before you do any action, ask, "How will this affect me?" And after the action, ask again, "How did this affect me?"

These questions may not be easy, but they are entirely worthwhile. Because the one who practices them consistently will be, without a doubt, a more thinking, conscious and conscientious human being.

Ultimately, it may well be that it is this awareness, or mindfulness, of which Rabbi Bars writes which guides how well we integrate our Jewish time and our secular time.

Shabbat shalom.

Torah Study on Toldot

Our synagogue, Tikvat Israel, has had a weekly, lay-led Torah study session since the beginning of the cycle last fall. Individuals volunteer to lead a Torah discussion on the weekly portion. Discussions are held after the kiddush. People are welcome to daven together at services and stay for the study; to come just for study; or any combination of the above. We've always had at least a minyan (10 participants) and frequently have between 18-24 people.

Because each of us brings his/her unique perspective to the table, the insights and discussion are often wide-ranging and frequently provide “food for thought” during the coming week. The internet facilitates our study by allowing us to “hear” the ideas of people from around the world. This past week’s Torah portion was Toldot – the story of Isaac, Rebekah, Jacob and Esau.

Our leader this week was a knowledgeable colleague who works with young children and their families. She particularly likes the stories in Beresheit/Genesis because they’re great stories—filled with insights into family dynamics and interpersonal relationships. The discussion she led yesterday focused on the relationship between Isaac and Rebekah – their playfulness with and attraction to each other early on in their story and the silence between them as their sons grow into adulthood.

As she was guiding the discussion, asking questions and sharing her own, she read the following from Rabbi Yaakov Asher Sinclair from Ohr Sameach, a yeshiva in Israel where her son is studying.

In this weeks Torah portion, Eisav returns home so ravenous after his work that he sells his birthright for a bowl of lentils. In fact, he is so consumed by his desire for food that he doesn’t even describe the lentils by name. He merely says to Yaakov "Pour into me, now, some of that red red" (25:30) English translators usually append a noun to the adjectives, such as "that red stuff," but in Hebrew there is no noun, there are just two adjectives one following the other. In Hebrew, a noun is called shem etzem, meaning "the name of the essence", the thing itself. An adjective is a shem toar, "a name of description." When our physical desires lead us to mistake appearance for essence, when we exchange a world of nouns for a world of adjectives, when style dominates meaning, then we have truly lost our birthright.

“Stop,” I interjected. “Can you read that again more slowly?” She agreed. Here’s the part that jumped out at me:

In Hebrew, a noun is called shem etzem, meaning "the name of the essence", the thing itself. An adjective is a shem toar, "a name of description." When our physical desires lead us to mistake appearance for essence, when we exchange a world of nouns for a world of adjectives, when style dominates meaning, then we have truly lost our birthright.

There's really nothing left to add, is there?

Shavuah tov/a good week.