December 19, 2008

Parashat Va-Yeshev & Chanukah 2009 -- Our Inner Light

Rabbi Abraham Isaac HaCohen Kook teaches:

Everyone must know and understand that within us burns a candle and no one’s candle is identical with the candle of another and there is no human being without a candle. So everyone must know and understand that one is obligated to work hard to reveal the light of one’s candle in the public realm for the benefit of the many. One needs to ignite one’s candle and make of it a great torch to enlighten the whole world.

During our TBS Religious School Family Chanukah Program, we talked at length about the importance of sharing one’s inner light, especially during Chanukah. As you know, Chanukah begins this year on the night of December 21, which also happens to be the longest night of the year. During Chanukah, which falls during the darkest time of the year, it is our responsibility to shed light! We are taught, “pirsum ha’nes,” we are taught to publicize or share the miracle of Chanukah by placing chanukiot in the windows of our homes. In this way, people who walk or drive by our windows will learn of the miracle of Chanukah.

Let us allow ourselves to be challenged this Chanukah. It is not enough for us only to display our chanukiot and believe that we have fulfilled the mitzvah of pirsum ha’nes in the fullest sense. I believe that, along with the flames of our chanukiot, we have a moral responsibility to share the light that each one of us has within us. HaRav Kook teaches, “One needs to ignite one’s candle and make of it a great torch to enlighten the whole world.” Our world certainly needs our light!

This week’s Torah portion is Va-Yeshev. In it, we learn of Joseph’s failed attempt to share his inner light with is brothers. Joseph, youthful and self-involved, tells his brothers about his dreams, in which he imagines himself as a binding sheaf in the field, standing upright, with his brothers’ sheaves bowing low to him. Joseph’s brothers are offended by this dream. They conspire to kill him and then, with so-called mercy, throw him into a pit and sell him as a slave to Midianite traders, instead.

What does the intersection of these ideas have to teach us? What does our imperative to share our Chanukah lights have in common with a Torah story about boastfulness and its bitter end? The link, I believe, comes with the intention. On Chanukah, we are not instructed to share our light for our own gain or betterment, as Joseph sought to share his light. No, we are asked to share our lights for the betterment of the world.

We share our lights for the betterment of our world when we engage in the three fundamental acts of Jewish life: Torah, Avodah, G’milut Chasadim, or study, prayer, and acts of loving kindness. On this Chanukah, I pray that we will all find time for each of these. May our own lights be made brighter and may our small flames merge together to create a great light over the entire world.

December 3, 2008

Parashat Va-Yetzei 5769--Einstein and Religion

I am currently reading the book Einstein and Religion by Max Jammer. The book was a gift from my father-in-law, a mathematician, and I find myself searching within its pages for clues about how something so deeply essential to me, my Jewishness, affected one of the greatest minds of past generation. As an educator, I am drawn particularly to the experiences that inspired Einstein’s youthful “religious paradise” (as Einstein himself called it).

In this week’s Torah portion, Va-Yeitzei, we read of our ancestor Jacob’s own youthful encounter with God. After stealing his brother’s birthright and fleeing his home, Jacob finds himself on his own quest to define his life. In this week’s parashah, Jacob arrives at a place unknown to him. He stops for the night, rests his head, and dreams of a ladder stretching up to the heavens, with angels ascending and descending. The Torah tells us that Jacob sees God on a journey, with a stone placed underneath his head. We can easily imagine the piercing darkness of the ancient night sky, ablaze with billions of stars. Is it any coincidence that Jacob saw God lying on the very dirt of our planet?

I have come to learn that Einstein, as a young boy, was also deeply affected by the natural world. We learn, “The pure joy of Nature entered into the heart of the boy, a feeling that is usually foreign to the youthful inhabitants of cities of dead stone. Nature whispered song to him, and at the coming of the spring-tide infused his being with joy, to which he resigned himself in happy contemplation” (Jammer 17, quoting Moszkowski, Einstein the Searcher). Einstein, like Jacob, opened himself to the whispers of the natural world and from them tapped into the Divine breath that animates all.

The story of Einstein’s youthful religiosity, though, is not as simple as a boy loving nature. What inspired a religious awakening in Einstein was a series of encounters; encounters with music, with nature, and with religious studies (Jammer 18). As a young adult, Einstein refused to become bar mitzvah. While he owned a set of tefillin, he did not regularly use them. There is no record of him ever attending services or participating in synagogue life (Jammer 26-27). And yet, contrary to what many believe, Einstein believed that religion was, indeed, connected inextricably to his work in the world; as he explained, “Science without religion is lame, religion without science is blind” (Jammer 31, quoting Einstein “Science and Religion”).

As a young boy, Einstein never saw angels on a ladder, ascending and descending. Throughout his life, Einstein challenged normative Jewish beliefs and traditions, and yet, Einstein, through metaphor and allegory, did believe in God and expressed his own Jewishness (Jammer 48).

Some of us, like Jacob, can point to a single radical moment or series of events in our lives, through which we come to know God. Others of us, like Einstein, struggle our entire lives, weaving together disparate experiences, which help us to understand our own place in the universe. Both, I believe, are journeys worth celebrating.

This week I am reminded that the Jewish people are colorful and varied. There is room within our ranks for Jacobs, Einsteins, and the rest of us. On this Shabbat, I invite you to consider your own (ongoing) exploration of God and Judaism. It is, I believe, not only what we see and believe, but also that which we don’t see and reject, which comes to define our spiritual selves. Let us open ourselves up to the totality of experience. Who knows what we might yet discover?

P.S. - If you want to read Einstein and Religion too, let me know. I’d love to gather a small group together to discuss the book over lunch.

November 21, 2008

Parashat Chayei Sarah 5769 - Forgiving

In this week’s Torah portion, Parashat Chayei Sarah, we mourn the deaths of both Sarah and Abraham, parents of the Jewish people. This week, I am drawn in particular to the scene of Abraham’s burial. The Torah explains:

This was the total span of Abraham's life: one hundred and seventy-five years. And Abraham breathed his last, dying at a good ripe age, old and contented; and he was gathered to his kin. His sons Isaac and Ishmael buried him in the cave of Machpelah, in the field of Ephron son of Zohar the Hittite, facing Mamrethe field that Abraham had bought from the Hittites; there Abraham was buried, and Sarah his wife (Genesis 25:7-9).

On the surface, this is a routine, if not touching, burial scene: Abraham’s sons Isaac and Ishmael bury their father. And yet, the depth of this passage is actually much greater. For, you see, this is the first time Ishmael is facing his family since he and his mother were banished from their camp (described in last week’s Torah portion Vayeira in Genesis 21).

The great Medieval Torah scholar, Rashi, suggests, “From this [scene] we gather that Ishmael repented of his evil ways and yielded the precedence to Isaac.” But, I cannot see this scene through Rashi’s eyes. I believe that Rashi, attempting to elevate Isaac’s status even further, fails to perceive an even greater lesson in Ishmael’s actions. Ishmael had no evil ways from which to repent, at least no evil ways described in the Torah. As far as the Torah presents it, Ishmael is a victim, parented by Abraham and Hagar, Abraham’s Egyptian slave.

What are we to make of Ishmael’s life? At the hands of our ancestors, he was a victim of jealousy and pain, of anger and pettiness. But, there is purpose to all in Torah. I believe that we are to see in Ishmael a model of unique proportions. Ishmael, in this week’s parashah, transcends the hurt and pain caused by his parents and his birth family. Ishmael, despite all that had happened in his life, returned to honor his father’s memory. Despite what was done to him. Despite the details of his origins.

Each one of us privately holds our own hurts. Each one of us has been wronged, offended, or mistreated by others. Just as much as life is defined by our joy, it is also defined by our pain. Forgiveness is a deeply difficult task. On Yom Kippur we are asked to focus ourselves on apologizing to those we have wronged. But, I believe, the real work of Yom Kippur, and of our daily lives, lies not only in asking for forgiveness, but also in forgiving those who have wronged us, even when they don’t ask for our forgiveness. Abraham never asks for Ishmael’s. Nor does Sarah. Nor does Isaac. And yet, Ishmael returns. He returns to pay honor to his father and to stand side by side with his brother. And, maybe, Ishmael returns, as well, to begin his own healing.

On this Shabbat, I pray that each of us may take a few moments to consider those hurts we still carry with us. May we explore our own capacities for forgiveness. May we be inspired by the image of Ishmael, standing by his brother, mourning his father. May we imagine in Ishmael’s silent prayers words of honor and blessing.

November 7, 2008

In Response to Proposition 8

The Psalmist declares, “Those who sow in tears will reap in joy” (Psalm 126:5).

In May 2008, we knew joy. And, in November 2008, we once again knew tears.

But, our tradition reminds us that nothing is static.

Ecclesiastes tells us, “A season is set for everything, a time for every experience under the heaven,” (Ecclesiastes 3:1).

Those who supported Proposition 8 told us your time is never. But, there were millions of Californians who told us otherwise.

And, I say: The time for equality is now.

“One may lie down weeping at nightfall; but at dawn there are songs of joy” (Psalm 30:5).

Now, we must act. We must not lose hope. We must continue living.

“A time for silence and a time for speaking,” (Ecclesiastes 3:7)

Let us not lose voice. Let us join as one voice.

Martin Luther King, Jr. proclaimed, “The arc of history is long, but it bends toward justice...”

And so, we will continue to seek, continue to demand, continue to act for justice.

November 5, 2008

Parashat Lech L'cha 5769 -- The Land must support us all

This week’s Torah portion, Parashat Lech L’cha, begins with God’s famous call to Abram, “Go forth from your land” (Genesis 12:1). God promises Abram that his name will be great and that he will father a great nation. With these promise-filled words, Abram sets off toward Canaan with his wife Sarai and his nephew Lot.

Let us imagine this ancient entourage, making its way through the desert toward their newly defined destiny. Let us listen in on their conversations, tinged with excitement, anxiety, and fear. Let us smell their animals, clobbering along, and envision their amassed possessions, folded smartly into canvases. This is the image of our people’s beginnings!

And yet, what is hard to imagine, or maybe not that hard to imagine, is the speed with which our pastoral image cracks. There is a famine in the land. There is a scarcity of resources. Our ancestors fear for their safety. They encounter strangers with new customs. There is strife between uncle and nephew. The Torah teaches, “Now Lot, who had gone with Abram, also had flocks and herds and tents, so that the land could not support them both” (Genesis 13:5-6).

This is a story as ancient as any. The land could not support them both. And so, Lot takes off in one direction and Abram in another. And God tries again. “And Adonai said to Abram, after Lot had parted from him, ‘Raise your eyes and look out from where you are, to the north and south, to the east and west, for I give all the land that you see to you and your offspring forever” (Genesis 13:14-15).

Our Torah is trying to teach us something, here. Conflicts are not solved by mere separation, by simply turning our backs to the problem, by simply sending it away. As hard as God tries, as hard as Abram tries, sending the problem away does not make it disappear. The land could not support them both. These are dangerous words; the Torah seems to warn us. Lot and Abram separate, but the story won’t end.

Just one chapter later, Lot and his family are taken prisoner and Abram rescues them. And in next week’s Torah portion, Lot and his family find themselves embroiled in a dangerous, terrible moral drama. Abram is once again face to face with his nephew.

No! Our Torah seems to cry. The land must support us all. We cannot solve the difficult, especially the most fundamental of differences, by ignoring them, turning our backs on them, or banishing them. Today’s Torah portion reminds us that healing is needed in the face of conflict. Healing comes when we seek to understand, when we seek to solve.

On this Shabbat, each of is called upon to consider the ways in which we simply turn our backs on that which feels too much for us to confront. Torah tells us, we are all made from dust of the same earth and we are all destined to live upon it together. The land must support us all. And, we must learn to live on it.

October 30, 2008

Parashat Noah 5769 -- Vote!

It is fitting that, this year, we will read Parashat Noah on the Shabbat before Election Day, November 4. I say “fitting” because this week’s Torah portion provides us with a lesson in civic involvement. We can imagine that Noah, whose name means “pleasantness,” must have looked out at his world and seen something quite the opposite. In his age, Noah was surrounded by corruption and lawlessness. God, as the text tells us, witnessed this corruption and told Noah “‘I have decided to put an end to all flesh, for the earth is filled with lawlessness because of them: I am about to destroy them with the earth” (Genesis 6:13). Noah was spared this end. As the Torah tells us, “Noah was a righteous man; he was blameless in his age; Noah walked with God” (Genesis 6:9).

Let us imagine Noah’s reaction to God’s dire pronouncement. Surely, even before God spoke to him, Noah must have feared that the troubles of his time were so great that the very fabric of society might rip apart around him. Surely, Noah had been expecting something terrible to happen. Surely, Noah knew that the created world was headed on a course to disaster. But this course? And, at the hands of God? Was Noah, this man of pleasantness, expecting God to destroy the world?

It is hard to say.

Noah, the blameless man, never gives us any indication of his feelings. God tells Noah, “Make yourself an ark,” and Noah sets about doing so (Genesis 6:14). He doesn’t argue. He doesn’t mourn. He doesn’t try to change his society for the better. He doesn’t say anything to forestall the destruction. He doesn’t do anything to stop God’s plan. He simply builds an ark.

In today’s world, we too are surrounded by global issues that threaten our society’s destruction. At home, we are concerned with financial crisis and healthcare, with war and unemployment. Globally, we are faced with poverty and climate change. Just to name a few concerns…

Yes, we might say, every generation faces destruction. But, age after age, we avoid that destruction. Destruction is avoided only by the actions of strong willed individuals, burning with a sense of moral outrage. Destruction is avoided when people care not only for themselves, but for the present and future of their society.

Destruction is avoided when people stop building their own arks and start changing the world around them.

Noah is an appropriate parasha for Election Day because it shakes us with this fundamental truth: It is not enough to be blameless. It is not enough to build our own arks. It is our responsibility to care for the entire world. Would Noah have gone to the voting booth on Election Day, or would he have busied himself with gopher wood?

On Election Day, it is not enough for us to build our own arks. We must add our voices to the multitude who are trying to stop the flood. We stop the flood when we exercise our civic duty by being agents of our own destiny. This is what being a contributing citizen is all about.

October 22, 2008

Parashat B'reishit 5769

In this week’s Torah portion, Parashat B’reishit, we encounter the beginnings of our world. We are called upon to envision the process of turning chaos and void into earth and life. This week’s parasha, though, speaks not only of creation, but also of the fundamental definitions of what it means to be human. Being human means struggling and learning; it means falling and forgiving. Humans, we learn from the first stories of Torah, are creatures capable of violence and compassion, of good and evil.

In Parashat B’reishit, we read “God created the human beings in [the divine] image, creating [them] in the image of God” (Genesis 1:27). In this oft-cited verse, we learn that all human beings are considered equally close to the divine, regardless of our particular attributes or differences. We are taught that the first human being, adam, was created out of the dust of the earth, adamah, teaching us that we have a fundamental connection not only to all of humanity, but also to all of creation.

The question of what makes us essentially human has been on my mind since this past Sunday, after I listened to the National Public Radio program Speaking of Faith with Krista Tippett. The program, which airs locally on 89.3 KPCC at 4:00 pm on Sundays, explores issues of faith in meaningful and provocative ways. Speaking of Faith is my weekly post-religious school treat and I listen to it (pardon the pun) religiously!

This past week, the show was entitled “Being Autistic, Being Human.” (you can download the mp3 if you are interested). During the broadcast, Tippett’s guest, Paul Collins explains, “...Autism is an ability and a disability: it is as much about what is abundant as what is missing, an over-expression of the very traits that make our species unique. Other animals are social, but only humans are capable of abstract logic. The autistic out-human the humans and we can scarcely recognize the result.”

And I wonder again: What are the traits that make us essentially human? At the World Science Festival, held this past June in New York City, a panel of scientists gathered to discuss this very question. According to the Wired Science Blog, one participant, Marvin Minsky, an artificial intelligence pioneer, suggested that “We do something other species can’t: We remember. We have cultures, ways of transmitting information.”

And I think: Remembering. Yes! Is this not the ultimate purpose of Torah? Torah is meant to remind us that we have common origins. We read Torah to remember that we are all created in the same divine image. We read Torah to remember that we are called upon to be a just and compassionate people. We read Torah to remember that even before we were Israel, we were humanity. We read Torah to remember that being human means more than just existing.

We become fully human when we recognize the humanity of others. And, this I believe was the purpose of Tippett’s recent reflections. When we look to those around us and see them not as “less human,” but “more human,” we are able to elevate all of existence.

What does it mean to be human? It means to remember. And to remember carefully. For how we remember shapes who we are and what we will become. My blessing for us all on this Shabbat is that we remember and we remember well. May our foundational memories, retold to us this week, shape our actions toward good in this world.

October 15, 2008

Sukkot 5769

We find ourselves in the middle of the holiday of Sukkot. Sukkot is called Z’man Simchateinu, the Season of our Joy, for, on Sukkot, we are commanded to be joyful. Interestingly enough, on Sukkot we are also instructed to build sukkot, or temporary structures and to read the book of Ecclesiastes, a book filled with images of impermanence. And I wonder: What does our tradition want with us, leaving us with this odd mixture of joy and impermanence?

I believe that our tradition teaches us something profound this week: Our people have long recognized that moments of pure joy can be difficult to reach and recognize. We must treasure the moments of joy in our life and create space for them. Sukkot tells us: Once this elusive emotion is grasped, take pleasure in its coming and don’t worry about how long it will last.

In one of my favorite biblical passages, The Psalmist sings, “One may lie down weeping at nightfall; but at dawn there are songs of joy (Psalm 30:5). Life is full of moments of pain as surely as it is filled with moments of simcha. This is a time for seizing joy! As the poet Robert Graves explains, seizing it “despite and still.”

On this Sukkot, I pray that each of us takes time to reflect on the m’korot simcha, the sources of joy in our lives. May we draw these centers of joy close to us. As we take our lulav and etrog and eat our meals outside, let us remember that quiet skies follow even the windiest of days. As we gaze up through the roofs of our sukkot at the now waning moon in the sky, let us remember that everything that wanes will once again wax. “Those who sow in tears will reap in joy,” (Psalm 126:5). Let us all reap in joy in the days to come!

Exodus 33:12–34:26 is the special Torah portion this week. We read this portion on the Shabbat that falls during intermediary days of Sukkot.

October 10, 2008

Yom Kippur 5769 -- Love Your Neighbor as Yourself

My Yom Kippur Sermon on Marriage Equality begins...

A month after I was ordained as a rabbi, I found myself walking into a country club, signature black leather briefcase in hand, ready to officiate at my first Jewish wedding. Moments later, I looked down at the first California Marriage License I would sign as a solo officiant. My hand shook as I tried to make sense of the official document before me. I took a deep breath and brought to mind the calming words of Rabbi Cohen: Whatever you do, just don’t mess up the marriage license!

Click here to read the rest of the sermon.

Parashat Haazinu 5769

This week’s Torah Portion, Parashat Ha’azinu, provides us with both a touching and troubling look at Moses’ final days of life. The entire Torah portion is comprised of the Ha’azinu, or Give-Ear, poem, also called Moses’ Poem. In this final poem, Moses recites his understanding of God’s relationship with Israel. The masterful verses includes images of the divine, which are intended to both comfort and disturb the audience.

When I read this poem, I tend to focus not on its particular theologies, but on its intended purpose. This poem is Moses’ attempt to make meaning of his life. This poem is Moses’ attempt to communicate his beliefs and feelings with his community. Moses declares:
Give ear, O heavens, let me speak; Let the earth hear the words I utter! May my speech come down as the rain, My utterances distill as the dew, Like showers on young growth, Like droplets on the grass. For the name of Adonai I proclaim; Give glory to our God! (Deuteronomy 32:1-3)
Moses imagines that his words will have both immediate impact (like the falling of rain) and lasting impact (like the settling of dew). Moses sees his words as holy, being given in the name of Adonai. and with the purpose of glorifying the divine. What a model of speech for us all!

We are currently in the Ten Days of Awe between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur. This is a time for us to consider our own words and actions carefully. Ha’azinu is a poignant reminder that holiness comes when we speak from our souls.

What words do you need to say aloud before Yom Kippur? To whom do you need to utter them?

During this time of year, we are expected not only to engage in holy speech, but also to engage in holy action. Each year at TBS, we provide our community with the opportunity to bring bags of food for the Second Harvest Food Drive. This food is needed now more than ever, as local food banks report decreased food stock and increased demand. We have a lot to learn from Moses’ proclamation.

We all know that it is quite easy to move through life without saying the difficult things we need to say or engaging in the important actions we need to complete. Torah’s lesson this week is clear: Speak and act wisely, and do so for the sake of heaven.

I pray that each one of us is moved in the days ahead to engage in both holy speech and holy action.

G’mar Chatimah Tovah!

October 2, 2008

Rosh Hashanah 5769 -- Searching for Meaning

My second day Rosh Hashanah sermon on Meaning begins...

This summer, my seven year old nephew Callan, came from Denver to stay with my partner Tali and I for a week. For us two thirty-somethings who live alone, anticipating the visit of a first grader was a big deal. Yes, Callan’s arrival was marked with much fanfare. We created a little bedroom for him in our home office. We bought food we thought a growing boy would like: turkey slices, Gatorade, baby carrots, nacho lunchables. We planned activities, signed him up for Camp Sholom, coordinated schedules, and made extensive lists. We talked about house rules. And so, when we picked up Callan from the airport on June 21, we were ready.

Click here to read the rest of the sermon.

September 26, 2008

Parashat Nitzavim 5768

In this week’s Torah portion Parshat Nitzavim, we are reminded of what it means to be Israel. Moses gathers the people together and says to them:
You stand this day, all of you, before Adonai your God -- your tribal heads, your elders and your officials, all the men of Israel, your children, your wives, even the stranger within your camp, from woodchopper to waterdrawer -- to enter into the covenant of Adonai your God, which Adonai your God is concluding with you this day, with its sanctions; to the end that God may establish you this day as God’s people and be your God, as God promised you and as God swore to your fathers, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. I make this covenant, with its sanctions, not with you alone, but both with those who are standing here with us this day before Adonai our God and with those who are not with us here this day. (Deuteronomy 29:9-14).
This week, Moses teaches us to understand ourselves both horizontally and vertically. Horizontally, because Israel includes everyone: men and women, powerful and powerless, children and strangers. And, vertically, because Israel spans generations: from those who came before to those who have yet to come.

As we continue our own process of Elul reflection in preparation for the High Holy Days, I believe we too have an opportunity to rethink our relationships with our community. How might we better connect or serve those around us? How might we better align ourselves with generations past and present?

Parashat Nitzavim provides one answer to this question. The Torah tells us:
Surely, this Instruction which I enjoin upon you this day is not too baffling for you, nor is it beyond reach. It is not in the heavens, that you should say, "Who among us can go up to the heavens and get it for us and impart it to us, that we may observe it?" Neither is it beyond the sea, that you should say, "Who among us can cross to the other side of the sea and get it for us and impart it to us, that we may observe it?" No, the thing is very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart, to observe it (Deuteronomy 30:11-13).
This week we are reminded that Torah, in its totality, is not intended to be esoteric or removed from our lives. Rather, Torah is meant to be internalized. This week we are reminded that our tradition calls upon us to hold Torah close to us; to keep words of Torah on our lips and implanted in our hearts. When we keep Torah close to us, we bind ourselves to our community. We are reminded to live lives based on justice and compassion, and to seek a sense of purpose in all we do.

It is easy to stray away from this ideal. It is easy to live life separated from tradition, from community, and from our sacred texts. It is easy to do this because life is busy and filled with pleasant things to distract us. However, Torah teaches us that life is experienced more fully when we connect ourselves to things greater than ourselves. When we live life conscious of our place in our community (both horizontally and vertically) and when we live life with an inner mindfulness toward our spirit, Torah teaches that we live our lives to their whole potential.

On this Shabbat, I pray that we find moments to seek out the Torah in our lives. I pray that we take time to connect ourselves with those around us, those who came before us, and those of future generations. Elul is a time for drawing close to our best selves. I wish you blessings as you do so.

September 19, 2008

Parashat Ki Tavo 5768

In this week’s Torah portion Ki Tavo, Moses asks the people to imagine the land they will soon occupy. Like any good leader, Moses instructs the Israelites to envision what life will be like once they enter the Land of Israel. He contextualizes this exercise by helping the people to reflect first on their past, then of their present, and finally to their future. Moses says:
The Egyptians dealt harshly with us and oppressed us; they imposed heavy labor upon us. We cried to Adonai, the God of our ancestors, and Adonai heard our plea and saw our plight, our misery, and our oppression. Adonai freed us from Egypt by a mighty hand, by an outstretched arm and awesome power, and by signs and portents. God brought us to this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey. Therefore, as you see, I now bring the firstfruits of the land which you, Adonai, have given me. (Deuteronomy 26:6-10).
In this visioning exercise, notice how Moses quickly glosses over the particulars of how the people will come to possess and inhabit the Promised Land. Moses moves deftly from slavery to freedom (skipping much of the in between) and then delights in how the people will give thanks to God with their firstfruits, celebrating their deliverance. And, what of the forty years of wandering? And, what of the people that occupy the “Promised Land”?

Some argue that Moses’ omissions serve as good motivating tools. “Why dwell on the negative?” Moses seems to say. “Let’s just focus on all that we have.”

Others read Moses’ speech differently. The key to unlocking his omissions, they say, are the words “milk and honey.” These scholars point out that the phrase “milk and honey” is repeated 15 times in the Torah. These bible scholars suggest that “milk and honey” might not refer to the sweet future and rich land their simple meaning suggests. These scholars suggest that instead of referring to an abundance of agricultural products, “milk and honey” refers to an abundance of dangerous wild animals (N. Hareuveni). According to this reading, Moses does not gloss over the particulars of how the people will come to “possess and inhabit” the land, at all. Rather, by stating that the land will flow with “milk and honey,” Moses seeks to acknowledge that the Israelites will still have much to contend with once they enter the land.

This dual reading reminds me of one of the wonderful characteristics of Torah. Our Torah has no issue with contradictions! Both of these ways of understanding—positive and negative—may very well be intended in the meaning of the verse.

Today, we find ourselves in the month of Elul. This is a time for introspection. This is a time for reflection. I believe that, this week, Torah calls us to look upon our lives through “milk and honey” glasses. What of our lives is sweet and calls for gratitude? What of our lives is challenging and calls for further struggle? As we look backwards and forwards to what has passed and what is yet to come, let us remember that all of life is “milk and honey.” What changes is how we perceive it. What changes is how we grow from it. What changes is how we respond to it.

September 12, 2008

Parashat Ki Teitzei 5768

When liberal Jews are asked to define why they believe some Torah laws must be rejected, while others, such as laws of justice and respect, remain piercingly relevant, we often site a verse from this week’s Torah portion, Parashat Ki Teitzei:
If a man has a wayward and defiant son, who does not heed his father or mother and does not obey them even after they discipline him, his father and mother shall take hold of him and bring him out to the elders of his town at the public place of his community. They shall say to the elders of his town, “This son of ours is disloyal and defiant; he does not heed us. He is a glutton and a drunkard.” Thereupon the men of his town shall stone him to death. Thus you will sweep out evil from your midst: all Israel will hear and be afraid.
“You see,” cries the triumphant Torah reader, “Obviously, this does not happen anymore. So, why should we keep ________________ [fill in the mitzvah].”

What may be surprising to us is that the ancient rabbis react to this verse quite similarly to the contemporary Torah reader. The rabbis of the Mishna went to great lengths to reinterpret these verses; explaining that the text refers only to a son and not a daughter, that it only refers to a three month period of time in the son’s life, that the son cannot be deaf, that the son cannot be mute, that the son must have both a mother and a father, and so on. The Babylonian Talmud goes on further to narrow the scope of possibility until the criteria for a “wayward son” are almost non-existent. At this point, the Talmudic Rabbis do not stop. Rather, they proclaim, unequivocally, “‘A stubborn and rebellious son,’ there never was and there never will be such. Then why is it written? To teach, ‘Study and receive the reward’” (BT Sanhedrin 71a).”

What are the ancient rabbis suggesting, here? The rabbis never outright reject a Torah verse with which they are uncomfortable. Rather, they reinterpret it and reinterpret it until it barely resembles its original character. They squeeze sweetness and goodness out of many of the most troubling verses. They wrestle blessings even out of violence and pain.

As the saying goes, “where there is a rabbinic will, there is a halakhic [Jewish legal] way.” When the ancient rabbis wanted to reform a verse, they stopped at nothing to do so. This text-wrestling was considered a sacred duty. And, I believe, it was never intended to end.

We, in liberal Jewish communities, should never cede our responsibility to continue wrestling new blessings out of ancient texts. For the rabbis (and for us), the law of the wayward son was deeply troubling. If we look into the heart of this week’s Torah portion, we see other such laws that bring us discomfort (e.g. captive women brought into an Israelite’s home, prohibitions against men and women wearing clothing of the opposite gender, etc.). Instead of shutting us off to Torah, these verses should be doorways in. For, when we encounter a verse that brings us pain, it becomes our duty to create comfort for others.

Let us return briefly to the final words of the Gemara text I cited earlier, “Study and receive the reward.” When we challenge existing assumptions and make Torah a living document in our lives, we remind ourselves that all around us in our world are established ways of doing and being that need overturning, as well. When we become menders of our text, we remind ourselves to be menders of our world.

On this Shabbat, I invite you to engage in a little text-wrestling of your own. Who knows what blessings you might find.

September 5, 2008

Parashat Shoftim 5768

This week’s Torah portion, Parashat Shoftim, is concerned with issues of justice. In the opening verses of the parashah, the Torah boldly proclaims: Justice, justice shall you pursue (Deuteronomy 16:20). These famous words, which instruct us to be agents of righteousness in our community, fuel much of our work at TBS. I read these words anew this year, though. For, on Sunday, we will open the TBS Religious School for the 2008-2009 school year.

This week, as I studied the parashah, I found myself drawn to the instructions Moses gives to the Israelites concerning their future appointment of a king. The text foreshadows the problematic relationship Israel will have with their power-hungry kings once they occupy the land. Today, with the kingship abolished, I believe each of us can learn from these instructions and consider the ways we can manage our own power and influence.

The Torah explains:
When he is seated on his royal throne, he shall have a copy of this Torah written for him on a scroll by the levitical priests. Let it remain with him and let him read in it all his life, so that he may learn to revere Adonai his God, to observe faithfully every word of this Torah as well as these laws. Thus his heart will not be raised above his fellows and he will not turn aside from the Instruction (Mitzvah), to the right or to the left, in order that he and his descendants may reign long in the midst of Israel (Deuteronomy 17:18-20).
As I mentioned, these words are particularly poignant to me as we begin our final preparations to open the Religious School doors to our students of Torah, once again. This ancient royal instruction is, indeed, exactly what we want our students to learn at TBS. We hope our students will live a life surrounded by Torah. We wish that Torah will remain relevant and meaningful for them. We pray that our students will learn that, at its core, Torah teaches a message of justice. And so, we work to instill in our students these central values, so beautifully outline in this week’s parashah: Everyone is equal. Our behavior affects the quality of life for every living creature.

As a community, our most basic desire is to help raise up a new generation that is committed to a life of justice. This week’s Torah portion is a reminder of our role in this process. We must become the “levitical priests.” We must continue to bring our students to Torah. To teach them its most basic values. To model for them its just application. To share with them its essential sweetness.

I invite all of you who are available to join us for our Religious School Opening Day ceremony this Sunday at 10:00 a.m. in the Sanctuary. As we unveil our social justice focus for the year, introduce our new HUC interns, greet our TBS teachers, and welcome our students to learning with music and joy, I know that we will inspire not only our students, but also (maybe even) ourselves.

August 29, 2008

Parashat Re'eh 5768

This week’s Torah portion, Parashat Re’eh, opens with these words:
See, I am setting before you today a blessing and a curse: The blessing, if you listen to the mitzvot of Adonai your God that I am giving you today; and the curse, if you don't listen to the mitzvot of Adonai your God, but turn aside from the way I am ordering you today and follow other gods that you have not known.
Blessings, Torah teaches, are available to us, if we only choose them. And, the curses? Well, we can keep them at bay if we only choose rightly. The question is: What is a “blessing,” and what is a “curse”?

The Sefat Emet, a nineteenth Century Hasidic master, teaches that a “blessing” is a living point, hidden deep within each of us. To sense or uncover our hidden blessing, we must listen for it. We must attune ourselves to the divine substance that exists within us. When we find ways to recognize this bit of the divine in each of our acts, we live a life of blessing.

In this sense, then, a blessing is not something extrinsic that we receive. But, rather, intrinsic. A blessing is something within us, a true core that each one of us possesses. And, the Sefat Emet teaches, when we live our lives with an awareness of our divine blessing, we experience life differently.

What, then, keeps us from living our lives centered around a divine blessing? The answer, I believe, is in the Torah portion itself. There are many distractions that catch our eye and divert us from seeing the inner blessings of our lives. These distractions, which our ancestors called “idols” or “other gods,” take new forms today. These distractions pull us from our divine centers. Instead of living life in tune
with our divine core, we find ourselves living in tune with other rhythms: busy-ness, stress, success, responsibilities, etc. And, while none of these is, in and of itself, problematic, they have the potential to become problematic when we live only for them. In the same way that a piece of wood only becomes and idol when you pray to it, success only becomes a diversion to the divine when you live by it.

On this Shabbat, I wish us all the power to choose our own blessing. May we each realize that we hold within us a hidden divine core, ready to be discovered, ready to be unleashed, ready to be embodied.

August 22, 2008

Parashat Eikev 5768

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, we often choose not to 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)?

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 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. The earth will rebel. It will have nothing more to give you. 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. Our lives, it seems, have been ruled by newly created laws of technology, science, and urbanization.

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.

August 15, 2008

Parashat Va'etchanan

I believe this week’s Torah portion, Parashat Va’Etchanan, is best read through three different pairs of glasses. You decide which one enhances your sight best!

Dark Glasses:
This week, Moses learns, once and for all, that God will not allow him to cross over the River Jordan and enter into the Promised Land with the People. God tells Moses, “Go up to the top of the pisga (range) and lift up your eyes—toward the sea, toward the north, toward the south, and toward sunrise; see it with your eyes, for you will not cross this Jordan!” This verse may seem distressing to some of us: What a cruel story! Moses leads the people for 40 years through the desert, only to arrive at the edge of the Promised Land and to be denied entrance. What could he have possibly done to deserve this? We may feel that God is almost taunting Moses, like a guard might taunt a captive: “See that land of freedom over there, take a good look, because you won’t ever step foot on it.” The story gets even worse because Moses can’t even enjoy his last moments of his life in peace; rather, he has to keep teaching the people. Listen to the bitterness of Moses’ words when he says, “And now, O Israel, listen to the laws and the regulations that I am teaching you to observe, in order that you may live and enter and take-possession of the land that Adonai, the God of your fathers, is giving to you.” Moses has taken himself out of the equation—by repeating the word “you”—instead of the word “we”—again and again. These glasses show us a story of disappointment and loss.

Rose Colored Glasses:
Maybe, the image of Moses looking over the Promised Land isn’t depressing at all, maybe this is a message of hope. Maybe God offers Moses this concrete visual image in order to help Moses realize that he has succeeded in his journey. When Moses looks North and South, East and West, maybe he feels a sense of pride. And, of course, Moses has the joy, even in these last moments of his life, of teaching his people Torah, the laws they will need to succeed in the land. These glasses show us a story of satisfaction and hope.

Bifocals:
Maybe this passage isn’t about Moses’ disappointment or hope, at all. Maybe this entire parashah is delivering a message about the future of Judaism! Forget about what Moses is feeling for a second! Let’s ask this question instead: Why won’t God let Moses into the land in the first place? When the Torah describes Moses looking across the River Jordan, it paints a picture of a new future for Judaism—a future that will not be dependent on Moses’ leadership. When Moses turns to his people and says “And now, O Israel, listen to the laws and the regulations that I am teaching you to observe, in order that you may live and enter and take-possession of the land that Adonai, the God of your fathers, is giving to you,” Moses is letting the People know that they now hold the future of Judaism in their hands. Moses has set the People up to live and to behave correctly without his ongoing leadership. In fact, Moses instructs the People further; he tells the Israelites to “make the laws known to your children, and to your children’s children.” This parashah lets us know that, after Moses’ passing, Judaism will continue to exist independent of a single leader. Judaism will be dependent on the collective, on the people who practice it. These glasses show us a story about the survival of Judaism and its ability to endure from one generation to the next.

You choose the glasses. Is this a story of disappointment, of hope, or of continuity?

On this Shabbat let us remember that we have both the power and the responsibility to view Torah through many lenses. It is only when we widen our lens of viewing that we strengthen our tradition and enrich our own lives.

August 1, 2008

Parashat Masei 5768

In this week’s Torah Portion, Parashat Ma’asei, we are treated to a recap of the Israelites’ experiences in the desert. The text details their journey, from exodus to the plains of Moab. Interestingly, though, the text includes few details of narrative; rather, it focuses on a long list of places at which the Israelites stopped and camped, before moving on. Ma’asei is the last portion in the Book of Numbers and, in reading it, one naturally wonders: Why would the Torah recap the Israelites’ journey at this point? For weeks and weeks, we have heard in detail the story of the Israelites’ journey. Why does it need to be reiterated here?

One answer is that the Torah is employing a tried and true pedagogic method. It is always helpful to review the main points of a lesson as it draws to an end. Doing so helps learners sort through the material presented and gives them an opportunity to internalize critical ideas. Which leads us to the question: Why, in this reiteration, are the details left out and only the locations listed?

In reading Numbers 33, I am struck by a concept that is often discussed in Gender Studies circles, the idea of taking up space in the world. There are some groups, women for example, who have not always been given equal access to certain space in the world. Because of this, individual women often have had to learn not only how to take up space in the world, but also discover what space in the world they would like to take up.

On an individual level, it can be interesting to consider your own experiences: What space in the world do you take up? (e.g. do you take up space as a parent, as a child, as a trouble maker, as a nurturer, as an artist, as an adventurer? etc.) What space in the world would you like to take up? Is it easy for you to occupy space? Is it a challenge? How have spaces you occupy changed with time?

I believe that this week’s Torah portion challenges future generations, the descendents of the Israelite wanderers, to consider the space we will take up in the world. The long list of places in this week’s parashah reminds us that individual Israelites did not experience the desert journey (like much of life) as a linear path from slavery to freedom. Rather, as we read Ma’asei, we can imagine the story of any one of our ancestors. We can imagine their struggle to learn how to take up space in the world, for only free people have this privilege. As they wandered, our ancestors learned to take up space as believers and as doubters, as rebels and as helpers, as nurtures and as fighters, as complainers and praisers. As they went from place to place, the space they took up shifted, as well.

On this Shabbat, we are reminded that we too are wanderers. Like our ancestors, our journey is never linear. As we go from place to place (physical, emotional, and spiritual), the space we take up shifts, as well. Before heading into the Promised Land, our ancestors needed to be reminded of the space they had taken up, the space they were taking up, and the space they still yet could take up in the world. On this Shabbat, let us remember that we too stand on the Plains of Moab, looking into the Promised Land. And, let us remember that it is only when we seek to become aware of who we are, how we are, and where we are that we will become true agents of our own journey into Israel.

July 25, 2008

Parashat Mattot 5768

When I was a teenager, my family moved to a small town called Clever, outside of Springfield, Missouri. We lived, quite literally, in the “middle of nowhere.” My father, who grew up on a small farm in rural Kansas, delighted in exposing my family to the finer sides of country life. One of his favorite games was to stop his pickup truck directly over the well soiled cow path that ran across our country road, open the car windows, and as the cows milled about, eating hay, say, “Do you smell that country?” Of course, we would all obligingly shriek, lunge for the window controls, and scream, “Eww…that smells so bad!” Let’s just say I was not all that great at the finer points of country life.

This childhood memory comes to mind as I read this week’s Torah portion. In this week’s parashah, Mattot, the Israelites come to the lands of Jazer and Gilead. These lands are very near the banks of the Jordan River and, according to the Torah, “were a region suitable for cattle.” It is not surprising, then, that the Reubenties and Gadites, two of the Israelite tribes that possessed cattle, looked upon these recently conquered lands hungrily. They said to Moses, “‘the land that Adonai has conquered for the community of Israel is cattle country, and your servants have cattle. It would be a favor to us,’ they continued, ‘if this land were given to your servants as a holding; do not move us across the Jordan’” (Numbers 32:4-5). I can smell the cattle land now.

Moses is less than thrilled with this idea. The entire purpose of the Israelites’ journey for the past almost forty years was to reach the Promised Land. The slave generation had been denied access to the land because they were unable to lose their slave mentality. Now, this new generation, on the verge of crossing the Jordan River seemed to be losing sight of the end goal as well. Moses balks. He tells the Reubenites and the Gadites that they must first cross the Jordan, help conquer the land, and then they can return to dwell in Jazer and Gilead. The two tribes agree.

Rabbi Elliot Kukla suggests that the central issue with the Reubenites and Gadites’ initial proposal was that they were only interested in their own personal gain. They failed to realize that their community needed them in order to evolve, in order to reach their final destination.

In response to today’s secular society, in which the individual and the individual’s needs are often valued over all else, Jewish tradition teaches us a very different value. Al tifrosh min ha’tzibur: Do not separate yourself from the community. In order for our community (whether “our community” is Temple Beth Sholom, the city or county we live in, our country, our world, or the Jewish people etc.) to advance, we must remain in tune with communal needs. Sometimes, this week’s Torah portion teaches us, this means delaying or setting aside our own personal gains.

When my grandmother passed away a few years ago, I saw a different side of country life. As my family sat shiva, neighbors from the surrounding dairies, farms, and houses entered our home to grieve with us. From my life in Missouri I learned that cattle land may be important, but community is much more so.

July 18, 2008

Parashat Pinchas 5768

In this week’s Torah portion, Parashat Pinchas, we learn of a groundbreaking legal case. A man name Zelophehad dies and leaves no male heirs. His five daughters petition to inherit his possessions. Moses brings the case before God, and Adonai exclaims, “The plea of Zelophehad’s daughters is just: you should give them a hereditary holding among their father’s kinsmen; transfer their father’s share to them” (Numbers 27:7).

The encounter with Zelophead’s daughters is immediately followed with a very different sort of divine decree. “Adonai says to Moses, ‘Ascend these heights of Abarim and view the land that I have given to the Israelite people. When you have seen it, you too shall be gathered to your kin, just as your brother Aaron was’” (Numbers 27:12). Yes, directly after asking Moses to ensure the daughters’ inheritance, God instructs Moses to climb to the heights of a tall mountain and look over the Promised Land, the land which Moses himself will never enter. God shows Moses the land and lets him know that he will die before he ever enters it.

At this point in our narrative, the great Moses, whom we have followed from birth to old age, no longer looms mightily over the people. Moses’ brother and sister, Aaron and Miriam, have recently passed away. The people have tried again and again to overthrow his leadership. Moses has proven unable to overcome his tendencies toward anger. And, while Moses continues to stand before God and the Israelites, his fate is also known: Neither he nor the people he led out of slavery will ever step foot into the Promised Land he first prophesied about so many years ago.

Rashi, the great Medieval Torah commentator, wonders why the Torah would follow a passage about the daughters’ inheritance with the decree for Moses to climb the mountain and look out over the future he will never know. What is the link between these two stories? Rashi imagines that the case of inheritance must have stirred up a number of deep feelings and assumptions in Moses. Rashi, quoting Midrash, imagines that this inheritance case (filled with sweet promises of the future) might have led Moses to begin re-imagining what the future might yet hold for him. Maybe, Moses might have thought, his future would be different than God had previously ordained. Rashi envisions Moses thinking to himself: God has asked me to deal with these laws of inheritance, perhaps God’s decree that I must die in the wilderness has been annulled and I will enter the Promised Land.

When God asks Moses to look over the land, a land which he will never enter, God is acting with compassion. The Torah knows that a change in one’s reality can be difficult. How could anyone expect Moses to fully assimilate this new reality into his consciousness? For year’s Moses had envisioned himself leading his people into the Promised Land. How could things have turned out so differently? This week’s Torah portion opens up us as readers to the realities of lost expectations. Moses imagined his future one way, but it will be another. By gently reminding Moses of what will be, God helps to reorient Moses to his “new normal.”

Sometimes life leads all of us down paths we would not choose for ourselves. All of us face disappointments, losses, or unexpected changes. It is natural, Torah teaches us, to resist these new courses. However, we come to learn this week that healing often begins with acceptance and that no matter where our future takes us, God remains by our side. This is not the only time that in Torah that God will remind Moses of his changed future. This is a step in a process. A good reminder for us all.

July 11, 2008

Parashat Balak 5768

In this week’s Torah portion, Parashat Balak, the foreign prophet Balaam stands on a hill overlooking the Israelites’ wilderness camp, poised to curse the people below. But, instead of cursing them, Balaam blesses the Israelites. Balaam, hired by King Balak to curse the Children of Israel, is overcome with the spirit of Adonai and sings out:

How good are your tents, O Jacob,
Your dwellings, O Israel!
Like palm-groves that stretch out,
Like gardens beside a river,
Like aloes planted by Adonai,
Like cedars beside the water (Numbers 24:5-6)

For Balaam, the Israelites’ desert encampment was a fertile oasis in a stark wilderness. Commentators for generations have wondered: What could Balaam have seen in that desert encampment? What was so special about the Israelite tents that Balaam was overcome with blessing? What could that image have signified to him?

In his book The Spirituality of Welcoming, Dr. Ron Wolfson likens today’s synagogues to tents. He notes that is the above verse from this week’s parashah, “How good are your tents, O Jacob, Your dwellings, O Israel!” that provides the opening words to every morning service. “In fact,” he writes, “the first ‘prayer houses’ were undoubtedly tents.”

Wolfson, though, takes the image of a tent a step further. He writes, “Imagine what a tent looks like. How is a good synagogue like a good tent?” We would each answer this question differently, but when I think of a tent, I think of a place that is not only open and welcoming, but also provides shelter and safety. It is a place of hospitality. It is portable. It has multiple entrances and exits. It is a home away from home. (Wolfson 48-49).

When I went camping this past spring with members of our tenth grade Confirmation class, I learned an important lesson about tent camping: There is always something to do, and everyone can and must help. During our three days in the desert, I watched our Confirmation students set up their tents, cook our meals, clean up our campsite, help one another on hikes, and build campfires together. In a tent community, everyone must pitch in. In a tent community, there are no passive learners or “back of the class” students. There is only one option, to be an active member of the community.

At TBS, we work hard to create a welcoming “tent community.” We have greeters to receive us on Shabbat. We have nametags to share who we are. We give time to wish one another “Shabbat Shalom” during services. We stay in touch by phone and email. But, to create and sustain a true tent community, each of us must remember that there is always something to do, and that everyone can and must help. And, so I ask you on this Shabbat of Tents to consider how you, yourself, might welcome someone into our TBS tent. Might you introduce yourself to a stranger the next time you are at services? Might you volunteer to help the next time a social action initiative is extended? Might you offer to teach in our community? Might you simply extend a smile or a warm handshake?

Rabbi Sue Levi Elwell points out that it is not only our task to occupy our tents, but also to extend them. As Isaiah 54:2 teaches, “Enlarge the site of your tent, Extend the size of your dwelling, Do not stint! Lengthen the ropes, and drive the pegs firm.” On this Shabbat, let us not only praise the tent that exists, but recommit ourselves to creating the tent that might yet be.

July 4, 2008

Parashat Chukat 5768

In her essay “Teaching a Stone to Talk,” Annie Dillard writes “The island where I live is peopled with cranks like myself. In a cedar-shake shack on a cliff—but we all live like this—is a man in his thirties who lives alone with a stone he is trying to teach to talk….Reports differ on precisely what he expects or wants the stone to say.”

In this week’s Torah portion, Parashat Chukat, God commands Moses to assemble the people Israel and before their eyes to hold up his staff and “speak to a stone.” From this stone, God promises, water will flow out to quench the thirst of the complaining Israelites. Moses disobeys, he smashes the stone twice with his staff, water comes forth, and God tells Moses he will not enter the Promised Land because of it.

I wonder what God intended Moses to say to the stone?

Dillard adds, “I do not think he expects the stone to speak as we do, and describe for us its long life and many, or few, sensations. I think instead that he is trying to teach it to say a single word, such as ‘cup,’ or ‘uncle.’”

A man in his thirties is trying to teach a stone to talk. An impossible task.

All Moses had to do was speak to a stone. I guess he too could have simply said “cup” or “uncle” and water would have gushed out as promised. But he couldn’t utter a word.

What happened to Moses? Was he so overcome with frustration and rage that he lost the ability to speak? Was it that the people around him wouldn’t stop moaning, or that his sister Miriam had just died, or that he was stuck in the desert, or that he had just survived two violent attempts at mutiny? Did he simply snap? Did his anger and grief boil over beyond the point of speech? Was he was left only with hostility?

In the end, God could not teach Moses to talk any more than the man could teach the stone.

Dillard writes, “Nature’s silence is its one remark, and every flake of world is a chip off that old mute and immutable block.” The man is trying to teach the stone to talk because the silence of nature—the silence of the divine—can be deafening. The man is trying to teach the stone to talk because he longs for, lusts after, thirsts for communication.

Maybe God tried to teach Moses to talk because he knew the Israelites also longed for communication. The Israelites needed someone to speak a word that they could hear. A word that would break through their fear and pain and soothe their souls. In the end, Moses had no word to give, not to the stone and not to the people.

At times, each one of us is silent when we should speak, or desperate to hear from one who will not. On this Shabbat, let us remember that it is not the word that matters, but the act of speech of itself. Dillard writes, “The soul may ask God for anything, and never fail.” Let us open up our souls to speak. Let us allow ourselves to listen.

June 27, 2008

Parashat Korach 5768

Our Torah Portion, Parashat Korah, opens with news of an open rebellion amongst the Israelites. This week, two separate groups attempt to overthrow Aaron and Moses. These rebels, backed by hundreds of supporters, seek to attain places of power for themselves.

According to Rabbi Rachel Cowan, when we look at the character of Korah, one of the rebel leaders, we see an individual consumed by his own arrogance, seeking to promote his own self-interests. Korah capitalizes on the fears and complaints of the people (which we have heard in great detail in past weeks) and uses these weaknesses as a pretext to challenge the ultimate authority of God. To this end, Korah seeks to overthrow Aaron’s ordained place as priest. It is out of a place of self-centeredness, and not out of true concern for the divine or the Israelite people, that Korah raises himself above the community and demands a place of power.

Let us contrast Korah with Moses. Moses, upon hearing Korah’s words, falls on his face in an act of meekness. Moses never asked for the leadership role he was given; he was chosen by God and reluctantly accepted the post. Verse after verse of Torah illustrates Moses’ humility.

Rabbi Cowan suggests that Moses realizes all to well that Korah is not threatening his power, but God’s power. Moses has the wisdom not to engage Korah in battle or to argue his own merits with him. Instead, Moses devises a simple test. He asks Korah and his company to fill their fire pans with incense and bring them before God (a task that only Aaron and the priests are able to perform), literally daring them to challenge God’s authority head-on. Moses has the wisdom to realize: “This is not about me.”

One can imagine God’s response to Korah’s band of self-serving rebels! God is so filled with anger at the sight of Korah’s insincere offering that God instructs Moses and Aaron to step back and let the entire people be destroyed. Once again, Moses acts from a place of humble service. He falls on his face. He will not leave his people. Ignoring his own safety, Moses argues on their behalf. In the end, the Israelites are not destroyed, but God consumes Korah and his followers in a fire. The winning ideology is clear.

How, though, can we best hear this message today? Rabbi Cowan explains, “We, too, live with an ongoing conflict between an ‘inner Moses’ and an ‘inner Korah’—between humility and arrogance, between selflessness and selfishness” (Women’s Torah Commentary 911).
Each of us has an inner-Moses and an inner-Korah. We have moments in which we act in our own self-interest and moments in which we rise above our own needs and truly serve others.

On this Shabbat, let us reflect on our actions in the world. When do we act from a place of Korah and when do we act from a place of Moses? Are there patterns in our behavior? Is their room for both of these inner-selves? Is there value to be found in both of them?

June 20, 2008

Parashat Sh'lach L'cha 5768

In this week’s Torah portion, Parashat Sh’lach L’cha, the Israelites journey close to the Promised Land. As they approach, God instructs Moses to choose twelve emissaries to go and scout out the land. This mission is a curious one. As God says to Moses, “‘Send emissaries to scout the land of Canaan, which I am giving to the Israelite people’” (Numbers 13:1).

And I wonder, why would the Israelites need to send scouts to a land that God has already promised them? What are they meant to find there? What impact will their discoveries have on their future? Commentators have asked similar questions, some suggesting that the purpose of this mission is to test the faith of the scouts. I believe this mission is not only a test of faith, but also a test of partnership. Are the Israelites willing to recognize their own role in realizing the vision of the Promised Land? Are they willing to imagine themselves as God’s partners in the next stage of their lives? With all of their complaining about their present conditions, are they willing to vision and realize a better future?

Whatever the goal of the expedition is, the scouts (all except for two) clearly fail in their mission. They return back with examples of lush produce, illustrating that the land is indeed fertile. However, they quickly tell of “giants” who inhabit the land, adding “The country that we traversed and scouted is one that devours its settlers.” (Numbers 14:32). The scouts’ scathing report sends fear throughout the camp.

I believe this story of the scouts holds particular significance to us today. I believe that we, in this generation, stand again on the edge of the desert looking into what might yet be the Promised Land. Our Promised Land is not a physical space, but a vision of what our world might yet be. Our Promised Land is a world in which all people are treated with dignity, in which all people are free from violence, in which all people are satiated. In today’s world, we are all scouts. Do we look forward to the future with a sense of hopelessness and defeat? Do we give into our own doubts that our world might never be made whole? Or, do we suspend our fear and overcome our apathy to find a passion for change—a passion for tikkun olam—within ourselves. We stand again on the edge of the Promised Land and we are asked to believe that we might yet enter and occupy a better world.

On this Shabbat, may each of us imagine ways that we can fulfill our role as God’s partner in the ongoing work of healing our world. On this Shabbat, may we renew our hope in a Promised Land not yet realized.

June 13, 2008

Parashat B'haalot'cha

In this week’s Torah portion, Parashat B’haalot’cha the Israelites, still wandering in the desert, become weary of travel and grow bored with their homogeneous diet of the desert food, manna. And, they start to complain:
The riffraff in their midst felt a gluttonous craving; and then the Israelites wept and said, ‘If only we had meat to eat! We remember the fish that we used to eat free in Egypt, the cucumbers, the melons, the leeks, the onions, and the garlic. Now our gullets are shriveled. There is nothing at all! Nothing but this manna to look to!’ (Numbers 11:4-6).
I call this part of Numbers the counter-narrative and delight in its inclusion in Torah each year. That’s right, this week we are given access to the on-the-ground reality of wandering. Torah does not romanticize life, nor does it not paint rosy pictures of our ancestors’ relationship with God. Rather, it teaches us that life is often messy and includes disappointments, great and small. This week’s Torah portion show us that just as our ancestors’ relationships with God could grow strained and become tinged with doubt or anger, so too might our relationships with God feel challenging.

In almost every Jewish prayer, we thank God for delivering us from Egypt. In this week’s Torah portion, our ancestors glorify the conditions of slavery and complain to God for freeing them. But, even this is considered Torah. Torah preserves these disrespectful, hurtful insults hurled at God by the people. I believe these statements are to be read as both a reminder and as a comfort.

Reminder: Just as it is our right to praise God, so too is it our right to become angry with God. While the example in this week’s Torah portion may seem mundane (a spicier diet), it is connected with the realities of the Israelites’ condition. Our ancestors were disappointed, they were scared, they were tired, and they felt that God and life had dealt harshly with them. Indeed, this week’s Torah portion is a reminder that we all feel like complaining or crying out at times. It is also a reminder that God is present to hear our cries.

Comfort: Our tradition doesn’t paint a perfect picture either of God or of us. In this way, we can take comfort knowing that Judaism has always made room for our full selves. We are comforted this week knowing that there is space in our community for us at our best and at our worst.

On this Shabbat, let us find the strength to both praise God and cry out to God. Let us remember that we can pour out our full selves to the divine and know that we will be heard. And, let us take comfort in knowing that our tradition never expects us to be “perfect,” but mirrors to us our full selves.

June 6, 2008

Shavuot 5768

Recently, I have had the pleasure of speaking at two local high schools. I was invited as a “Jewish representative” and was asked to introduce Judaism and Jewish concepts to local teens that were curious about religion in general. During the question and answer period at both schools, I was asked a similar question: “How do Jews feel about people who follow other religions?”

The question did not surprise me. Unfortunately, religious discourse is all too often reduced to this basic assumption that “we” are right and “they” are wrong (assign “we” and “they” as fits the situation). However, as Reform Jews, we embrace a very different central value, that of pluralism. As pluralists, we assert that we do not hold a monopoly on truth. We have our truth and they can have their truth.

This Sunday night, we will welcome in the festival holiday of Shavuot. Together, we will stand with Jews across the world as we recreate the ancient moment that we received Torah at Mt Sinai. On Shavuot, we celebrate our people’s central experience of Revelation. I believe, though, that we can take our celebration further. This Shavuot, let us recommit ourselves to our values of pluralism. Let us renew our efforts not only to understand our own truth, but the truths of others as well.

Most Jewish prayers follow a three-step model: The individual first relates to God, then to the community, and then to all of humanity. I believe this model can serve as a reminder for us, in our own search for truths. First, we can seek to understand our own truth. Then, we can seek to understand the truth of our people. Then, we can seek to understand the truths of humanity.

If we, as a Jewish community, become complacent, interacting only on the individual or communal planes, if we see these as the ultimate levels of understanding, then we risk becoming isolated, separating ourselves from our world community. However, if we seek to accept the validity of multiple truths, we have the potential to repair the fissures in our world.

On this Shavuot, let us celebrate Torah, and let us celebrate our ability to respect and learn from others. Above all else, seeking to understand the truths of others reminds us that Torah is a vital and ever-present part of our existence. Truths do not only spread out as living, breathing branches on our tree of life, but also grow deep, serving as the strong roots that keep us balanced and firmly planted in this world.

May 30, 2008

Parashat Bamidbar 5768

This week, we begin reading a new book of Torah. Like most of us, the book hosts not one, but at least two identities. These identities are reflected in its names.

In Hebrew, the book is called Bamidbar, meaning “in the wilderness.” Bamidbar is a book about being in the wilderness. It outlines the effect that journeying has on the people. In Bamidbar, we hear a counter-narrative of wandering; the Israelites grumble, complain, and rebel. They grow mistrustful of God, of Moses, and of Aaron. Bamidbar shows us that wandering comes at a price, as does freedom from slavery.

Bamidbar reminds us that every seemingly ordered experience in life is counter-balanced by chaos and made more interesting by disruption.


In English, the book is called Numbers. Numbers is a book about numbers and certainty. This week’s parashah, for example, details a census, listing both the number of Israelite men who are of fighting age and the number of Levite males who will serve as the priests of the people. In Numbers, we learn of order and detail, including both the preparations to leave Mount Sinai and the groundwork for life in the Promised Land. Numbers is a book about marching forward from slavery to freedom and from the Narrow-Places of Egypt to the Promised Land.


Numbers reminds us that there is a rhythm to life, a current by which we flow, and a path for us to follow.
Rachel Havrelock writes in The Torah: A Women’s Commentary, “The contrast between these two titles reflects a tension between order and chaos, culture and nature, obedience and rebellion that characterizes the book and drives its plot.” This book of Torah deals in reality, reminding us that life is often more than what meets the eye.


As we enter into Shabbat this week, let us reflect on the significance of the names we possess. Many of us are known by different names, depending on the context in which we find ourselves: There are the names by which we are known at home, at work, and in the community. Strangers address us in one fashion, loved ones in another. Our names have power. They shape both the ways in which we see ourselves and the ways in which others see us. They can guide the way we act and the way react.

Like our book of Torah, Bamidbar – Numbers, our multiple names often represent multiple identities. These names give texture to our lives. On this Shabbat, let us delight in our full selves, reflecting on our many names and giving voice to disparate parts of ourselves.

May 23, 2008

Parashat Bechukotai 5768

With this week’s Torah portion Parashat Bechukotai, we come to the end of the book of Leviticus. The parashah ends with a familiar biblical assertion. God says: If you obey my laws, I will shower you with blessings and, if you do not obey my laws, I will bring curses upon you. For me, this simple statement of theodicy—this simple explanation for why good and bad happens in our lives—is troubling and rings untrue.

I do not believe in a God that blesses people who do good and curses people who do bad. This neat sense of balance in the world may give us humans a sense of control or power in the universe (i.e. if we just do good, then good things will come to us), but the problem is that it is simply untrue. Sorrow and pain sadly touch all of our lives, whether we are good people or not. To suggest otherwise is to deny many of our fundamental human experiences.

The Tanakh, the Hebrew Bible, itself expresses many different contradictory theologies (beliefs in God) and theodicies (explanations of good and bad in our world). So, while this theology of blessings and curses is often read as the dominant theology of the Hebrew Bible, it is certainly not the only way our foundational text looks at God’s relationship with us. The ancient Jewish rabbis, as well as the rabbis of the Middle Ages and Modern eras, wrestle with Bechukotai’s concept of God in their own writings. We, today, stand in a long line of tradition when we engage in this wrestling, as well.

This past week, I had the honor of hearing my teacher, Dr. Tamara Eskenazi, speak briefly on this week’s parashah. She explained that while she does not believe that God blesses us, she does believe we have the choice as to whether or not we want to be blessings in the world.

What does it mean to be a blessing?

We become blessings when we recognize that we are created in the image of God and act in ways that bring a sense of the Divine into our world. In this week’s parashah, God promises us peace, abundant food, respite from wild beasts, and military victories. And I think, what if we, ourselves, become agents of peace, providers for the needy, champions for the poor, and advocates for the disenfranchised.

If we look beyond the belief that God gives us blessings and curses, then we look toward a world in which we recognize our own power to become blessings in our families, in our work, in our homes, in our communities, and in our world. May each of us recognize the Divine spark within us and from that spark learn to be a blessing. Through us, may shefa brachot, abundant blessings, flow into our world.