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.

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.

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.

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.