Parashat Terumah 5769 -- Connect to Power

For the past three days, I have been taking part in the Selah Leadership Conference, a training for Jewish leaders interested in exploring the intersection between Judaism, justice, and leadership. Last night, after an engaging day of learning, I returned to my room, put my earphones in my ears, and distractedly hit play on my iPod. I was ready to listen to the Idan Raichel Project and lose myself a little. I hit the button again, but still no sound came out. Disappointed, I shifted the tiny wonder box to see what the problem was. A message had flashed onto the screen: “No battery power remains. Please connect to power."

“Yes!” I said to my iPod.

No battery power remains. Please connect to power.

Please connect to power.

There is deep truth in this instruction.

In this week’s Torah Portion, Parashat Terumah, God says to Moses, “Tell the Israelite people to bring Me gifts; you shall accept gifts for Me from every person whose heart so moves him.”

From Torah this week, God is affirming a number of significant truths. Each of us has gifts. Each of us has a heart that can move us. And, it is up to us to access our hearts and feel moved to share that which is inherently present in us.

In my recent learning, I heard an instructor address a room with a simple statement: “don’t hide your light under a bushel.” In Parashat Terumah, God shares these sentiments with us. Bring your gifts forward to your community. But…

No battery power remains. Please connect to power.

It is easy for us to feel our own “battery power” drained by our world. We need only open a newspaper, go online, or turn on the radio to be bombarded with messages of a world in turmoil. It is easy for our battery power to feel drained. It is easy for us to lose touch with our hearts and that which moves us. It is easy for us to forget that we are all connected to power. It is easy to slip into states governed by fear, worry, and despair.

I took my iPod, connected it to my computer through a USB cable, and instantaneously, it was ready to play again. Like the iPod, we need to connect periodically to that which energizes us. For me, my battery connection looks something like a daily walk, some study, meaningful conversation, prayer, and (if I’m being honest) a strong cup of coffee. It means recognizing that the power I gain from these practices of personal ecology is connected to the Power that animates all life.

On this Shabbat, I invite you to take stock of the power to which you need to connect. What gives you the power to access your gifts? What gives you the power for your heart to be moved? What gives you the power to live your life grounded in gratitude, generosity, and joy? This week God has asked us to bring forth our gifts. What might you bring to the meeting?

Parashat Mishpatim 5769 -- Journeying with Angels

This week's Torah portion, Parashat Mishpatim, includes the Book of the Covenant, the first large grouping of Torah laws. These chapters immediately follow the giving and receiving of the Decalogue, or the Ten Commandments, which we read in last week's Torah portion.

At TBS Shabbat services this Friday night, I will speak about the ethical issues inherent in these commandments and the relevance I believe their message holds in our lives today. In this D'var Torah, however, I am drawn, not to the laws themselves, but to the Torah text that immediately follows the Book of the Covenant.

The Torah says:

I am sending an angel before you to guard you on the way and to bring you to the place that I have made ready. Pay heed to him and obey him. Do not defy him, for he will not pardon your offenses, since My Name is in him; but if you obey him and do all that I say, I will be an enemy to your enemies and a foe to your foes. (Exodus 23:20-22).

The commentators love these verses! What was this angel? Was it a supernatural creature? A reflection of the Divine? A messenger from on High? Or, as the Mekhilta de-Rabbi Shimon bar Yohai suggests, a human prophet? (Eitz Chayim 474-475)

While the essence of this malach, this angel may be nebulous, the angel's purpose is neatly defined. Pay heed to this angel, God said to our ancestors. Journey onward, knowing that you are guarded and led. Travel, knowing that this angel has your best interests at heart. Act, knowing that this angel wants you to live a moral life. Live, knowing that this angel knows you and reflects you.

And, I wonder: Is it too far a leap for me to read these lines of Torah and imagine that there is, today, an angel still leading us?

In the desert, our ancestors knew that their destiny was inextricably bound up with the fate of those traveling with them. They left Egypt together, wandered together, and would arrive at their Promised Land together. They were led by a malach, a messenger that protected them and unified them. Their path, while unknown to them, was guarded by a divine being, which held their best interests at heart.

We too are wanderers. And, at times, it is all too easy for us to feel that we are journeying alone. But, in this week's Torah portion, we are reminded this is not so. We are a part of a sacred community. The Jewish mystics teach us not only is God one, but all is one. Yes, the Kabbalists teach us, "I thought there were many, but really there was only one."

On this Shabbat, let us focus on the common direction and purpose that unites us all. Let us remember that we do not journey alone. Let us journey as a people who are led by an angel. Let us live our lives believing that, for good or bad, we are guarded and protected. Let us take in the ultimate truth that the interests of our neighbor are really our own. Let us imagine that our paths, wherever they may take us, are blessed by the Divine. Let us use these teachings to inspire us to live lives of deeper purpose and meaning.

Parashat Yitro 5769 -- Sharing Leadership & Visions of Justice

We still have a long, long way to go before we reach the promised land of freedom. Yes, we have left the dusty soils of Egypt, and we have crossed a Red Sea that had for years been hardened by a long and piercing winter of massive resistance, but before we reach the majestic shores of the promised land, there will still be gigantic mountains of opposition ahead and prodigious hilltops of injustice (“Where Do We Go from Here,” by Martin Luther King, Jr.).

Yes, last week, we stood on the shores of the Sea of Reeds, stepped in and crossed (despite our fears), and arrived safely at the other side. We sang. We drank bitter waters made sweet. We camped. We learned to eat manna from heaven.

And, this week, in Parashat Yitro the Israelites once again complain bitterly. And they are dissatisfied with their lack of water. And they are attacked by Amalek. And they fight back. And as long as Moses can hold up his arms, they prevail in their defenses against Amalek. But Moses’ arms grow heavy. And, it seems that the people will be overcome, yet. And maybe at the root of all that complaining there was truth, maybe they would not see the Promised Land? But Aaron and Hur were determined. They would not return to slavery. And so, they moved to sit on each side of Moses and support his arms. And the people did prevail. Yes, the people prevailed when Aaron and Hur stepped up. And Moses was not left to lead alone.

And I figure Moses must have been very tired by this point. He must have been tired of the complaining and fearful that he would buckle under the pressure. He must have known that he could not continue to hold up his arms alone.

And one day, Moses’ father-in-law saw Moses sitting from morning until evening with people lined up all around him. “Why are these people here,” he asked? Moses explained that whenever people had a dispute, or were seeking justice, they came to him so that he could deliver the just message of God. Yes, Moses was once again holding up his arms alone.

Moses’ father-in-law Yitro saw that this was problematic. And, he suggested a new way of leading to Moses, delegation. Yitro would help Moses. And Moses would appoint chiefs to settle small disputes amongst the people.

And I wonder: Was this only about efficiency? Was this only about delegation? Or, was there a deeper message hidden in Yitro’s words? Maybe the truth is this: Moses alone could not support the affairs of justice in his community. Yitro seems to say, justice is only possible amongst a people when the entire community is invested in it. Justice is only possible when one person stands side by side with another and holds up their arms. Justice is only possible when everyone from leaders to chiefs to people believe in its virtues.

How often do we stand alone and hold up our arms until they shake and shudder with exertion? How often do we stand alone? And how often do we seek out others to stand by our sides and help us with our efforts?

Yes, on this Shabbat, let us learn to be like Yitro. Let us be dissatisfied with singular voices of justice. Let us seek out partners to help us. Let us be catalysts of change and sources of goodness in our community.

Parashat B'Shalach 5769 -- Rebirth

This week’s Torah portion is Parashat B’Shalach, or in English, the Torah Portion in which we are “sent” or “let go” from Egypt. This is the week, after weeks of Moses declaring, “Let my people go!” that we are let go. This Shabbat is Shabbat Shira, the Shabbat on which we come to banks of the Sea of Reeds, Moses lifts his staff, and the Israelites pass through the split sea onto dry land.

Scholars and the rest of us read this magnificent story and often ask, “Yeah, but did that really split?” We like to know the details. There are documentaries that detail weather patterns and tide patterns—yes, it did take place. There are famous sermons—no, it didn’t take place. There are archaeologists—yes, it did; no it didn’t. There are careers at stake, passionate cries of historicity, and fists pounded with one word, “authenticity.” happen? Did the sea

In the middle of this debate, I shrug.

I think these are both the wrong questions and the wrong answers.

For me, the question is not, “Did the Exodus take place?” But rather, “What is the metaphor?”

You see, I don’t think our people can cross through a split Sea of Reeds and travel from slavery to freedom, without there being some intended deeper meaning. I believe this image cries out for interpretation.

And, I think this week, of my friend and colleague, Rabbi Riqi Kosovske, and others like her, who explain this Text through a radical new lens.

“This is a birth narrative,” they declare.

Yes, when the people of Israel step into the parted sea, the people who had suffered through slavery are now passing through nothing less than a birth canal. The split sea, which leads them from the confined space of Mitzraim, of Egypt or literally “the Narrow Place,” now leads them into the midbar, the desert, the wide expanse.

Then Moses held out his arm over the sea and Adonai drove back the sea with a strong east wind all that night, and turned the sea into dry ground. The waters were split, and the Israelites went into the sea on dry ground, the waters forming a wall for them on their right and on their left. (Exodus 14:21-22)

This is a birth narrative. The split sea is the birth canal. We, as a people, are reborn. From slavery to freedom. And so, the question is not “Did it happen?” But, “What does it mean?”

On this Shabbat, I invite you to ask yourself this very question. This is Shabbat Shira, a Shabbat on which any song is possible. This is Shabbat Shira, a Shabbat on which we are reborn. This is Shabbat Shira, a Shabbat on which we re-enter the world with new formed eyes and an appetite for new experiences.

In our tradition, we are born not once, but again and again through our Torah narrative. Seize this opportunity and find what you may.

Parashat Va-era 5769 -- The Power to Cry Out

My most vivid memory of my first summer at a Jewish overnight camp is sitting during services and praying with my eyes closed for the first time. For someone who so likes to be in control, looking inward was a new experience.

In this week’s Torah portion, Parashat Va-era, God tells Moses:

“I have now heard the cries of the Israelites because the Egyptians are holding them in bondage, and I have remembered My covenant. Say, therefore, to the Israelite people: I am Adonai. I will free you from the labors of the Egyptians and deliver you from their bondage.” (Exodus 6:5-6).

For me, the miracle of Exodus is not that God answered the Israelites’ cries. God had been answering cries for generations. The miracle is that the Israelites had the self-awareness to realize that they were enslaved and the strength to believe they could do something about it.

Ironically, the most important lesson I have learned in recent years is discovering how to pray with my eyes open. I have learned that prayer is not only about self-reflection, but also about seeing the world, recognizing injustice, and coming to believe I can do something about it.

“I will redeem you with an outstretched arm and through extraordinary judgments. And I will take you to be My people, and I will be your God. And you shall know that I, Adonai, am your God who freed you from the labors of the Egyptians. I will bring you into the land which I swore to give to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and I will give it to you for a possession, I Adonai” (Exodus 6:7-8).

From Egypt, Mitzraim (literally, the “Narrow Place”), God promises the Israelites a new land, a Promised Land. Of course, there will be forty years of wandering, desert trials, and the passing of a generation before the Israelites ever touch foot on the soil of that promised inheritance. It is the awareness of the “in between,” the desert that often stands between slavery and freedom, which reminds me that nothing in life is as simple as spacious land and pledged blessings. Praying with open eyes means accepting the complexities of life. There will always be lands filled with sweetness and there will always be deserts along the way.

This week Torah reminds us that we are a people who cry out; who cry out at injustice, at oppression, at inequality, and unfairness. We are to be the people who pray with our eyes open.

Among God’s many names, we call the divine “Shomeah T’fillah,” “the One who hears prayers. Surely, we hear that name echoed in Torah this week.

Let us be reminded this week that ours is a God who cares about the suffering in our world. Let us be reminded that the path from injustice to freedom is often winding and filled with challenges, but neither of these facts excuses us from taking it. Let us be reminded that our inheritance is not only land, but also a willingness to cry out and wander.

Parashat Sh'mot 5769 -- Names and Journeys

This week we begin the book of Exodus. “Exodus,” according to the esteemed www.dictionary.com, means “a going out; a departure or emigration.” And while this is the book of “The Exodus,” meaning “the departure of the Israelites from Egypt under Moses,” it is also the book of “Exodus,” which means that as we read it, we too should imagine our own journeys, the places we are leaving, ourour migrations, (maybe even, if we’re feeling a little chutzpadik, our arrivals). departures,

And yet, this book is known by a different name in Hebrew. In Hebrew, we call this second book of the Torah, “Sh’mot,” or “Names.” The meaning of the word “name,” reports www.dictionary.com, is “a word or a combination of words by which a person, place, or thing, a body or class, or any object of thought is designated.”

This is the Book of Names and the Book of Journeys.

Is it surprising, then, that in this week’s parashah, the first in this book, we hear of both journeys and names?

The generation of Joseph has died and a new Pharaoh now rules over Egypt. Fearing the size of the Israelite people, Pharaoh persecutes and enslaves them. A Hebrew boy is born. Despite the fact that his very existence, his journey into life, is illegal; he is saved and sent down the Nile on a tiny little ark, the second journey of his life. It is not until he is rescued by Pharaoh’s daughter that he receives his first name (a veteran of journeys, but nameless until then). The Torah tells us, “She called him Moshe [pull out], explaining, "Because I pulled him out of the water" (Exodus 2:9)

Moses is first raised by his mother, who calls herself his “wet nurse,” and then is raised by Pharaoh’s daughter, who called herself “his mother.” Moses comes of age in the Pharaoh’s palace, separated from his people, never called by the name of “slave,” the title by which he should have been known.

And so, knowing what we do about names and journeys, should we be surprised that one day, after seeing an Egyptian beat an Israelite slave, Moses seems to remember that his name should have been “Israelite” and “slave”? Should we be surprised that Moses looks left and right, and then strikes and kills the Egyptian taskmaster? Should we lift an eyebrow when Moses’ memory of his birth-name and all that it inspired in him causes him to flee Egypt and travel to Midian? Yes, we seem to know already, a remembered-name often inspires a journey of one kind or another, just as a journey often inspires a new name.

One day in Midian, while tending to his father-in-law’s flock, an angel of God appears to Moses in the form of a burning bush. God knows Moses’ name and knows just how to call to him from within the bush, “Moses, Moses” (Exodus 3:4)! From the bush, God tells Moses who God is and who God hopes Moses will become: not slave, not wanderer, not child of the Egyptian palace, but redeemer of the Israelite people.

Moses responds by asking God’s name.

Why is Moses so interested in the name of the divine? Because Moses has come to know about names and journeys. God answers, elusively, “Ehyeh-Asher-Ehyeh…this shall be My name forever.” (Exodus 3:14-15). God’s name does not have a single meaning. At once, it suggests “I Am That I Am,” and “I Am Who I Am,” and “I Will Be What I Will Be.” God is both a name and a journey.

Yes, I believe this is the message we are meant to hear this Shabbat. Created b’tzelem Elohim, we too are names and journey.

On this Shabbat, as we enter into this new book of Torah, let us reflect on the names others call us, on the names we whisper to our own selves, and on the names we choose for those around us. Let us reflect on where we are, where we have been, and where we are going. On this Shabbat, our God of Being, let us live up to the name by which You call us.

Parashat Va-Y'chi 5769 -- Fear & Blessings

This week’s Torah portion, Parashat Va-Y’chi, tells of the last moments of Jacob’s life. On his deathbed, Jacob draws his son Joseph near to him and blesses Joseph’s sons. After Jacob’s passing, Joseph, the dutiful son, takes the lead in preparing his father’s body, arranging for his burial, and overseeing a mourning ceremony for him. Our Torah is touchingly articulate in its description of the care and concern Joseph shows for his father. Joseph’s honest and poignant expressions of mourning are directly contrasted by his brothers’ reactions to their father’s death. Instead of pointing to their grief and sadness, the Torah tells us “Joseph’s brothers, seeing that their father was dead, now said ‘Perhaps Joseph [still] bears us enmity and intends to repay us for all the harm that we inflicted upon him’” (Genesis 50:15). Joseph’s brothers respond to their father’s death with fear.

What prompted such a reaction?

Midrash Tanhuma suggests the following: "What did [the brothers] see that made them afraid? As they were returning from burying their father, they saw that Joseph turned off the road and went to look at the pit into which his brothers had cast him.Upon seeing this, they said, 'He still bears a grudge in his heart. Now that our father is dead, he will make his hatred of us felt.' But in fact Joseph's motive was a pious one — he wanted to utter a blessing for the miracle wrought for him in that place” (Va—Yehi 17).

This past week, I had the distinct pleasure of hearing a provocative d’var torah by Rachel Timoner, a fifth year rabbinical student at the Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion. In her d’var torah, Rachel cited this midrash and asked poignant questions about, based on her reading of this midrash, suggested that we must consider our own reactions to our world today. She asked us to consider what we might see while looking into “the pit.” Inspired by Rachel, I am thinking:

I, like each of you, have been reading the news these past weeks with my eyes open wide. We are all shaken by the situation in Gaza, the economic crisis, and the growing job loss.

Despite these realities, I believe each of us is still called to answer a critical question: Who will I be in this world?

Will I be like Joseph’s brothers? Will I be continually incited by fear and anxiety? Will I look out at the world and assume sinister motives? Will I become paralyzed by worry? Will I become stagnant? Will I remain mired in conflict? Will I give into my own feelings of jealousy or inadequacy?

Or, will I be like Joseph? Will I look out at the world and see blessings? Will I look at the most challenging parts of my life and find meaning? Will I search for the capacity to forgive? Will I find the strength to honor others? Will I dedicate myself to growth and healed relationships?

This week we read the final Torah portion in Genesis. Next week, a new story begins. Exodus. This is a story of slavery and redemption, of leadership and God’s presence, of pain and of joy. This is life. We cannot often affect what comes to us. But, we can affect how we react to what arrives.

Will we be Joseph or will we be his brothers?

The choice is up to each of us.

“I have put before you life and death, blessing and curse. Choose life!" (Deuteronomy 30:19).