Chanukah and Shabbat 5770

A prayer for tonight, which is Shabbat and the first night of Chanukah:

May the lights we light tonight not be limited to four small flames. 
Rather, may each of these flames expand—expand into a soft light that illuminates the shadows within each of us.
May tonight’s flames serve as some sort of gentle inner glow—a glow that radiates from the outside in and from the inside out.
A light of awareness.

May the lights we light tonight not be limited to four small flames. 
Rather, may each of  these flames blaze like torches—torches that throw light onto the injustices around us.
May tonight’s flames serve as urgent, alarm-like reminders that our world is not yet perfect and that we have a pressing responsibility to act for change.
A light of awareness.

May the lights we light tonight not be limited to four small flames. 
Rather, may each of these flames serve as markers—markers of the Sacred Presence in our hearts and homes.
May tonight’s flames serve as the purest of symbols—symbols of a Sheltering Peace that envelops us even in these longest, darkest days of our year.
A light of awareness.

Parashat Vayishlach--thoughts on Thanksgiving cont.

In this week’s Torah portion, Vayishlach, Jacob gives something of himself to his brother Esau.  In this parashah, Jacob sees Esau for the first time in twenty years.  You may remember that the last time these two brothers saw one another was when Jacob was fleeing his family’s home in fear of his life, for Esau had just discovered that Jacob had stolen his birthright. 

In the beginning of this week’s portion, Jacob spends a night of restless wrestling, he is filled with the deepest fears imaginable.  Jacob is terrified that Esau, in violent retribution for his earlier thievery, would attack him and his entire family.  We can imagine how relieved and shocked Jacob must have been when Esau, instead of attacking him, received him.  We can imagine what Jacob must have felt when he realized that his worst nightmares would not become reality.  We can imagine that Jacob, by the end of this encounter, was unbelievably grateful to his brother and to God. 

I believe that we can all identify with Jacob:  We know the feelings associated with being given a gift that we feel we might not have deserved.  We can empathize with the deep gratitude that Jacob must have felt when he knew that his life would be spared.

But, what is remarkable about Jacob’s behavior in this story is what Jacob does with his gratitude.  For, when Jacob realizes that Esau is granting him the gift of peace, Jacob says to him: “‘…I pray; if you would do me this favor, accept from me this brachah (blessing), for to see your face is like seeing the face of God, and you have received me favorably. Please accept my blessing which has been brought to you, for God has favored me and I have plenty’” (33:10).

Jacob responds to his heartfelt gratitude by giving something essential of himself to his brother.  The blessing that Jacob gives to Esau is more than just a simple offering.  This gift is Jacob’s attempt to make right the wrong he had committed against Esau twenty years ago.  The Hebrew word for birthright is “b'racha” or “blessing.”  And so, when Jacob offers Esau a “b'racha,” a blessing as a gift of gratitude, I believe that Jacob is trying to set right what he had done wrong.  For, Jacob, in his gratitude, gives Esau a “b'racha,” something that is profoundly essential to who he is, and something which Esau lacks.  

The truth is, it would have been easy for Jacob to have simply walked away from his brother.  Jacob could have fallen to his knees, in perfect biblical style.  He could have thanked and praised God, his Provider and Protector, his Rock and his Shield for delivering him from his brother.  But, Jacob does not just do that.  Jacob knows that prayer, in this case, is not enough.  His gratitude warrants action.  We can learn a lot from Jacob. 

This is thanksgiving.

Questions for further reflection (perfect for family-sharing during Shabbat meals):

• What is a gift that have you received for which you did not feel worthy?
• How did you feel when you received it?  How did you react?
• What life-lesson(s) did you learn from the experience?

Parashat Toldot--Thanksgiving

The word “Thanksgiving” is an assertion. From it, we learn that the appropriate response to gratitude is giving. Thanksgiving. Because we feel deeply grateful for what we have in our lives, we give something of ourselves to someone or something else.

In this week’s Torah Portion, Parashat Toldot, we encounter the opposite of thanksgiving. Said simply, this is a parashah that focuses on ingratitude and taking. Jacob pushes his (slightly) older brother Esau into selling him his birthright for a cup of soup, and then Jacob steals Esau’s blessing through outward trickery. They boys’ parents, Isaac and Rebekah, each choose their favorite son and support his efforts.

If this were the end of the Torah’s story about thanksgiving, we would be in a sorry state. In fact, it’s just the beginning. The real story of Jacob and Esau is not the taking or the trickery, but the gratitude and giving that come later. For me, the real story of Jacob and Esau is one of reconciliation and redemption. But, that is still yet to come...

The joy of studying Torah each week is the spiritual reflection that is possible when we know the end of the story, but willfully ignore it. This week we learn of taking and losing. This week we are left to consider the isolation and unhappiness that selfishness breeds. We are left longing for giving and gratitude. (and we know they are still yet to come)

As we move toward Shabbat, and then toward the holiday of Thanksgiving, I invite you to reflect again on the word “thanksgiving.” This word implicitly asserts that living a life filled with gratitude is insufficient. Unlike gratitude, thanksgiving is renewable. It spreads from person to person, life to life, soul to soul. Gratitude is a feeling. Thanksgiving is an action. In fact, this week, we hear a call to action: Seek out gratitude. Embrace opportunities for giving.

Questions for further reflection (perfect for family-sharing during Shabbat meals):

• What are you grateful for in your life? 
• How might your gratitude inspire you to give? 
• What gifts do you still have yet to share with the world, and how might they be used to help others?
  

Parashat Chayei Sarah--Choosing Meaning

They say that Abraham was the first Jew, because God said to him “Lekh l’kha!” (Go!) and Abraham went.

They say that Ruth was the first convert, because Naomi said to her “Go back to your people,” and instead she stayed, saying “Your people will be my people.”

And both of those accounts might be true, but I believe Rebekah was the first Jew by choice. Because, in this week’s Torah portion, Parashat Chayei Sarah, Rebekah’s family asks her, “Will you go with this man?” And Rebekah answers, “I will go.”

“This man,” by the way, is Abraham’s servant, sent by Abraham to find a bride for his son Isaac. And this servant believes Rebekah is not only the best choice for a bride, but someone sent by God for Isaac. What is incredible about this little piece of text is that it doesn’t really matter what the servant thinks, what Rebekah’s family wants, or what God ordains. The choice is Rebekah’s.

“Will you go?” they ask.

“I will go,” she says.

Rebekah is the first Jew by choice. Rebekah is asked and she agrees.

I imagine that Rebekah paused a long time before answering the question “Will you go?”  I imagine that in her pondering she heard a divine whisper saying to her, “What will be the meaning of your life?”

(As long as we are imagining the question and divine whispers, we might as well imagine the answer, as anachronistic as it may be!)

Yes, I imagine that it was the twentieth century philosopher Victor Frankl who answered, “I doubt whether a doctor can answer this question in general terms. For the meaning of life differs from [person to person], from day to day and from hour to hour. What matters, therefore, is not the meaning of life in general but rather the specific meaning of a person’s life at a given moment.”

The moment that Rebekah answered, “I will go,” what she really said was, “My life will take on a new, unprecedented, and as of yet unknown meaning.”

In our lives, we are asked the question “Will you go?” again and again, in different forms and in new iterations, always with the same divine whisper “What will be the meaning of your life?” The answers we supply to these questions have ripple effects. They determine the purpose of our lives (if not forever, at least for a given moment).

This week, Torah invites us to reflect on the “Will you go?” questions of our lives, those already asked and answered and those, as of yet, still unimagined. The text encourages us to consider our own responses, and possibly even nudges us to take a risk or two. This is a Shabbat for renewed purpose and direction. This is a Shabbat for thanking Rebekah.

Shabbat Shalom!

Questions for further reflection (perfect for family-sharing during Shabbat meals):

• Have there been moments in your life when you were asked to take a new direction in life? How did you answer and how did it effect things to come?
• Right now, in one sentence, what would you say is the purpose of your life? How has your answer to this question changed over time?

Parashat Vayera--A Community of Welcoming

This past Shabbat, I experienced pure joy as I gathered with many of our TIOH 6th Grade Religious School Families and our 6th Grade teachers (Libby and Manda) at the Karic family’s home for Shabbat dinner.  As each guest arrived, the Karics greeted us warmly.  And, soon, everyone was greeting one another.  As the evening drew to a close, one parent told me she had spoken to many, many people she had never met before.  This, to me, is what it means to be a welcoming community.  This week’s Torah portion, Parashat Vayera, offers us the perfect opportunity to reflect on our own practice of welcoming.

The Torah Portion Reads:

Adonai appeared to [Abraham] by the terebinths of Mamre; he was sitting at the entrance of the tent as the day grew hot. Looking up, he saw three men standing near him. As soon as he saw them, he ran from the entrance of the tent to greet them and, bowing to the ground, he said, "My lords, if it please you, do not go on past your servant. Let a little water be brought; bathe your feet and recline under the tree. And let me fetch a morsel of bread that you may refresh yourselves; then go on—seeing that you have come your servant's way." They replied, "Do as you have said." (Genesis 18:1-5).

Parashat Vayera is considered by many to be our tradition’s definitive text on the practice of welcoming.  The commentator Rashi teaches us that Abraham is sitting at the entrance of his tent because he is in the process of healing from his circumcision.  He is at the ripe age of 99.  So, Abraham is sitting outside his tent, on his land, focusing on his life, and his issues.  At that moment, three strangers appear (later we are taught these strangers are actually angels).  Despite all this, Abraham steps out of himself, his life, and his own experiences and welcomes the three men into his home.  He offers them food, water, refreshment, and rest.  From this text, we learn the value of hachnasat orchim, welcoming guests.

This past Tuesday night, a group of fourteen TIOH 6th grade families gathered.  Each of these families has volunteered to host an Israeli student in their home during our Partnership visit with Israelis students from the Tzahala School.  These families are living out the core values of TIOH:  A welcoming community, connected to one another and to the land and people of Israel.  Again, this past week, my soul was filled as I understood the kindness these families were extending to our soon-to-be communal guests.

In his book The Spirituality of Welcoming, Ron Wolfson writes:

The spirituality of welcoming elevates both the guest and the host.  A warm greeting eases the unspoken anxiety a guest feels at being a stranger and immediately answers the first question anyone in a strange place asks:  Will I be welcome here?  For the host, the act of hospitality is a gesture of spiritual generosity, uplifting the soul.  It is an offering of oneself, an invitation for connection between human and human and, in that meeting, between human and God.

Each week, we begin Sunday morning Religious School with our Flagpole gathering.  This gathering is a time for students, parents, teachers, madrichim, and our TIOH clergy to connect with one another and, through that connection, to connect to the Sacred in our lives.  Our Flagpole time, which is filled with much laughter and joyful singing, is our opportunity to open the doors of our Tent wide, and to invite all to enter.  If you have not yet joined us for this weekly practice of welcoming, I invite you to do so (every Sunday at 9:00 a.m. in Miller Hall).

In our TIOH community, our roles are fluid.  At times, each of us is a host and at times each of us is a guest.  Sometimes we might even feel as if we are the stranger.  When we acknowledge and internalize this reality, we realize that it takes all of us to sustain and build our community of welcoming.

As this year continues and time goes on, there will be opportunities for all of us to open our hearts, our homes, our souls, and our arms to one another.  Parent and student, alike.  This, I believe, is Torah’s call to us this week:  How will you live out the spirituality of welcoming?  How might you serve as a welcoming presence in our community?  What will you do to ensure that we have a community of welcoming?

Parashat Lech L'cha--An Open Destiny

Sarai and Avram are called the first Jews. In this week’s Torah portion, Lech L’cha, they are the first to pledge themselves to the one God. They are the first to leave their lives behind in search of a new destiny. In the chapters of Torah that unfold over the next weeks, we learn the complexities of Avram's inner and outer life. We learn the lengths of his faith. But what about Sarai? What does she have to say?

What follows is an imagined look into Sarai's thoughts and experiences. This is my reimagining of sacred text, an attempt to fill in the gaps. I invite you to leave your comments here and offer your interpretations, as well.

The text of this week’s Torah portion can be found online by clicking here. 

Grace Paley teaches that “everyone, real or imagined, deserves the open destiny of life.” My life had no open destiny. Avram was my husband. He led, I followed. His God was my God; not by choice, but by circumstance. Yes, there were ways to subvert the subservience. Yes, there were opportunities for small changes along the way on our journey. Some days I would suggest that we stop a little longer. I would whisper into Avram's ear, "The animals need feeding, the people need rest." Yes, I would say, let’s not stay here too long, I feel danger around us.

In time, as we marched through the desert, I came to know Avram’s God. I came to know God, because when all else failed--my husband, my place in our family, everything known--God remained with me. And, I realized, it wasn’t just Avram who could talk to God. I could too.

God knew Avram well. Maybe even better than I knew him. God knew that with a divine directive of “Go,” Avram would go. God knew that with a divine whisper of “Follow,” Avram would follow. But, God also knew that if I said, “Help,” Avram wouldn’t. And, if I said, “Wife,” Avram would say “Sister.”

My journey was a troubled one. One day I was by Avram's side. His wife, his partner, his companion. And the next I was in the Pharaoh's court, a play thing for royal amusement. Avram said to me, plain as day, "Look now, I know what a beautiful woman you are! So when the Egyptians see you, and say: 'This is his wife,' they may kill me; but you they shall keep alive. Please say then that you are my sister, so that on your account It may go well for me…" (Genesis 12:11). One small move and I was no longer wife, I was sister. I was left on the side of a road, in a forgotten kingdom, to serve the Pharaoh. A stranger in a strange land? No matter. "Stay there," I overheard Avram saying as he settled in to reap his rewards. It did go swell for him. But I knew my story: No land is mine through inheritance. No land is mine through struggle or trial or journey. I have no property, I am chattel.

God had promised Avram children, but God never made any promises to me. And neither did Avram. And it wasn't until things started going not well for Pharaoh that he figured us out, and I was released. Sister no more. Who helped Pharaoh get there? Who helped him realize this purposefully mistaken identify? God.

And so, you see, Avram was chosen, selected by God. Faith through honor. I was rescued. Rescued by God when I felt forgotten in life. I was remembered.

And so, in this most sacred of texts, I remain. I am here to remind you that the desert and wandering of life can be lonely. And we may come to the holy through the most desperate of circumstances. But, I know, that in the depths of despair, sometimes God is waiting. Avram might have heard God's call, but God heard mine.

My legacy is a troubling one. Told in the spaces between the letters. Left for you to imagine. What else do you read here?  Please post your comments.

Thank you to Soni Sanberg for first helping to read Sarai in a new light. My first insights into this side of Sarah came from Rosellen Brown and Ruth Behar writing in Beginning Anew: A Woman’s Companion to the High Holy Days.

Parashat Noach 5770--Walking with Humanity

“Noah was a righteous man (ish tzadik), blameless/innocent in his generation; Noah walked with God” (Genesis 6:9). Last week, I had the privilege of sitting down with members of Dorot Tzedek (Generations of Justice), a group of people at TIOH committed to working on behalf of justice. Noah and this group of folks from TIOH have something in common. He was called an ish tzadik and they are called Dorot Tzedek. Tzadik and Tzedek are from the same Hebrew root, meaning justice or righteousness. The similarities between them end here. You see, Noah learned that his world was coming to an end and he “walked with God” and “built and ark.” Folks from Dorot Tzedek see that our world is broken, and they have begun building relationships, accessing power, and publicly speaking words of truth to heal us.

Rabbi Moses Alshekh (c1498-1593) asks “Why are Jews not considered to be the descendants of Noah but rather of Abraham…?”

Alshekh answers:

The explanation is that even though Noah was righteous and perfect in his actions, he was not the ideal of the righteous Jew. “Noah walked with God,” not with people, not with others—he was not interested in humanity, in the environment. His righteousness was directed inward, to himself and his family…

In the face of brokenness, Noah was given a choice: Focus inward or focus outward? Focus inward: Either in despair, or personal triumph, or fear, or in an attempt to sustain life as he had known it. Or focus outward: Like the prophets of the biblical world and modern times, rail against injustice, seek ways to heal the brokenness, reach out to others, affect change. Noah focused inward.

Alshekh continues:

He was commanded by God to build an ark—he built it board by board and nail by nail, for a hundred and twenty consecutive years, and it never crossed his mind that there might be a way to avert God’s decree and save the world from destruction.

Noah was so focused on hammering and nailing (and how productive must he have felt in his toils!) that he never once looked up. No cries throughout the city, like the unwilling Jonah or the suffering Jeremiah. No speeches to move a nation like Martin Luther King, Jr. No attempts to turn prayer into action like Stephen S. Wise or Abraham Joshua Heschel.

Alshekh reminds us that we are the children of Abraham. Abraham and Sarah started their life journey as two individuals. The Torah doesn’t teach us that they were perfect. On the contrary, they were individuals who piled up a lifetime of flaws and hurts and mistakes. Much like all of us, if we’re being honest. But, Abraham and Sarah did something remarkable. They turned their two into hundreds and then thousands. They built relationships and sought to change their world.

I think back to the Dorot Tzedek meeting. And, I understand that we today are given a choice. Will we be the descendants of Noah or the descendants of Abraham? Will we build up the walls of an ark, nail by nail, surrounding us so thoroughly that we are no longer burdened by the sight of this world? Or will we build bridges that link us, inextricably, to the fate of humanity, and invite them along for the ride?

My deepest gratitude to Lila Foldes, from URJ's Just Congregations, for introducing me to this Alshekh interpretation.