Nitzavim: Choose... Something!

Right now, I'm in High Holiday mode. That means I am spending most of my time writing, editing, deleting, retooling, and finalizing sermons. After Rosh Hashanah, I'll post my first two main sermons here on the blog, so even if you didn't catch the live-version, you can still tell me if you thought they came out ok or not.
Fingers crossed... Though my brain is mainly focused on the Jewish New Year, and all the themes and imagery that come with it, I nevertheless wanted to pause and reflect with you on this week's Torah portion. Luckily for me (and hopefully you as well), I discovered that a source I was using for something ELSE, in a holiday sermon, had something interesting to say for Parashat Nitzavim as well.

My brother, Benjamin, gave me a book a while back, entitled "Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind," by Dr. Yuval Noah Harari. At one point in the book, Harari talks about how religion began and developed. He describes how animalism (or zoolatry) evolved into polytheism, which created both monotheism and dualism.

I was especially taken with a particular observation of Harari's, namely that all theology - all thinking about Divine forces, as well as the origins and purposes of humanity - face one struggle or another. Whatever you believe, however you imagine the universe is structured, you have to wrestle with a problem, and make a choice. Monotheists struggle with the Problem of Evil, or as Harari writes: "Monotheists have to practice intellectual gymnastics to explain how an all-knowing, all-powerful and perfectly good God allows so much suffering in the world." Dualism, meanwhile, is puzzled by the Problem of Order, meaning: "When Good and Evil fight, what common laws do they obey, and who decreed these laws?" No one can answer every question; everyone has to choose.

And here's where our Torah portion jumps into the mix. Moses is reaching the very end of his monologue, the last words he'll utter to the Children of Israel before his own death. Speaking on God's behalf, Moses declares:
"I have put before you life and death, blessing and curse. Choose life—if you and your descendants should live." (Deut. 30:19) On the one hand, it doesn't seem like much of a choice; more like a threat or an ultimatum! But on the other hand, it very much IS a choice. People choose death and destruction, pain and suffering, greed and hatred every single day! So much so, that it challenges the very fundamental building blocks of our monotheistic theology! If God is powerful, all-seeing, and good; how can there be this much evil in the world??? And even if you try to shift to dualism, polytheism, or some ancient animal worshiping zoolatry; ya still gotta make choices!

Just as Harari describes, we DO get distracted by the challenge of Evil quite a bit. But if we can set that aside for a minute, I think this quote from Deuteronomy actually is emphasizing the choice part. And not that it's a one-time decision,

and then you either live life as a Good Guy or a Bad Guy, but rather that life - living - is a series of constant choices. As we finish up this month of preparation, and get ready for Rosh Hashanah, we should let God's appeal to us keep ringing in our ears: "u'Vacharta va'Chayim," "Choose life!" It matters less what you believe, or even how you personally resolve, in your own mind, the eternal problem of the existence of evil. But what DOES matter are your choices - today, tomorrow, this upcoming Monday, and every day. Be a force for good in the world. Improve and inspire the community around you, and take responsibility for your actions and your behaviors, knowing when to say sorry and genuinely be remorseful. Make good choices, but perhaps even MORE importantly, recognize what a gift and a power it is to be able to choose. Respect that ability, treat it with compassion, kindness, and understanding; and together, we can all 'choose life!'


CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. Steve Johnson on Pexels
2. Albert Meyer on Wikipedia
3. andreasfuchs8732 on needpix.com
4. Jeremy Noble on Flickr

Ki Tavo: Sure, bless; but, when??

I get it. This ritual that our Torah portion ordains at the start of the reading makes a lot of sense, and I'm on board. I just have one, little question. The text instructs our 

ancestors, "When you enter the land that Adonai, your God, is giving you as a heritage, and you possess it and settle in it, you shall take some of every first fruit of the soil, which you harvest from the land..." (Deut. 26:1-2), and the Torah then essentially lays out a lengthy, scripted, demonstrative ceremony. The person is supposed to recount our people's history of wandering, then oppression, wandering some more, and eventually entering this land, cultivating the fruits of the earth - truly a gift directly from God - and now expressing gratitude and mindfulness for receiving God's Favor. Again, it makes perfect sense. I'm all for it. I'm just wondering, when exactly should this ritual be performed?

You see, if you think about it, Deuteronomy is giving us *at least* three possible options. When you enter the land; meaning that as soon as you've crossed the border, give thanks to God. Or when you possess it; in other words,

when you've subdued your enemies and have declared victory, stop and give thanks. Or when you settle it; which is later still, after the dust has settled, peace is in place, and you've had enough time to really set up your farm and grow an apple or two. And even then, the individual Israelite might respond that at any one of those moments, s/he'd be too busy, too stressed, too preoccupied to stop and go through a lengthy, scripted, ritualized ceremony of thanksgiving. "Can't this wait until... well, I don't know... LATER??!?!" A fair question, right? Well, to me, this is both the loophole *and* the brilliance of our text.

You (stressed-out Israelite) could always say "later, later, later." "I will definitely, definitely get to this at some point... WHEN I have time. I mean, this ritual makes total sense, and I will 100% get to it... just after we enter/possess/settle/cultivate/increase/organize/incorporate/and then publicly trade the land and its fruits..." Do you see my point? We put it off and put it off, always telling

ourselves that there will be some OTHER opportunity when we'll have endless free time, and that mythical moment will be the perfect time to stop, appreciate, practice mindfulness, and give thanks. One of our greatest sages, Hillel, famously stated in Pirkei Avot, the Ethics of the Fathers: "Do not say: 'When I have time I will study, because you may never have the time.'" (2:4) This was later echoed by a student of his, John Lennon, who wrote: "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans." So when does the Torah want you to conduct this ritual at the Temple? Well, right now, of course!

I mean that only somewhat facetiously. Obviously, we have no Temple, and most of us don't grow our own produce (and the majority of my readers don't live in the Biblical Promised Land...). But the point of this whole passage is more than a reminder about one particular ceremony in one specific location

at one exact moment in time. It's about mindfulness and appreciation. Even today (maybe *especially* today!), we wait and wait and wait for the perfect opportunity. That precise instant to tell someone how we feel, to express our gratitude in general, to attend a service, try our hand at something totally new and unfamiliar, or set out on an adventure that has ALWAYS been on our "bucket list." What are you waiting for? A sign from God? Someone else to tap you on the shoulder and say, "Now! This is the moment! GO FOR IT!!" We're in the Season of Repentance, folks. Rosh Hashanah is ten (gulp!) days away. You're waiting for a better moment than this?? Consider this your tap on the shoulder...


CC images in this blog post courtesy of:
1. PeakPX
2. Marines on Wikimedia Commons
3. AhmadArdity on Wikimedia Commons
4. rgaudet17 on Pixabay

L'Chaim (newsletter) article - September, 2019: Making Room For More “AND”

There is a weird dichotomy in our brains. On the one hand, we all hope and pray that life will be easy, free of pain, devoid of suffering and struggle, and as relaxing and peaceful as possible. That is the hope, the aspirational goal. 

And yet, on the other hand, we also know that challenge, obstacle, even illness and grief, can be formative. We are most proud when we achieve something difficult, not something easy or effortless. We feel accomplished when we previously failed repeatedly at something, only to FINALLY crack the code! So how do we reconcile these two competing feelings; that it would be ideal to be conflict-free, yet the conflict itself brings out our perseverance, grit, and resilience, and actually helps us grow as human beings?

Think about your own life: What are the moments that feel defining, that have shaped you as a person? Often they are related to adversity, or at least the overcoming of something tough. Partly what we then ALSO have to acknowledge, is that growth doesn’t occur in a straight line, in a direct and consistent trajectory. We respond and react, and are sometimes pushed to grow when we least expect it… or want it. 

This, to me, is at the core of our introspection and mindfulness every High Holiday season. Each of us is urged to look back at our lives and notice patterns and changes, and to start the year ahead with more awareness of where we are going and why... and also know that we are preparing (and bracing…) for challenges we can’t yet even imagine!

I guess what I really want to say to you is: It isn’t one or the other; we need both. We strive for (and sometimes reach) calm and ease, which allows us to enjoy and be grateful… yet inevitably we also experience challenge and adversity, which makes us grow and evolve. It’s not an either-or – it’s both-AND.

The High Holidays are coming in just a few weeks. I won’t tell you my sermon theme for this year just yet, but I WILL tell you the word “And” is central. Each of us is not defined by one thing, one behavior, one experience. Life ebbs and flows, it has high points and low ones, and we learn and grow from everything that happens (ideally, anyway…). Our lives, our religion, our congregation, our holidays; they aren’t black OR white, good OR bad. They are many things all at once, they are a combination of so many factors and elements. We need to see and reflect on all of them: The positive AND the negative, the joy AND the grief, the easy AND the hard. 

This year, let’s focus on the “And”; seeking harmony between disparate emotions and conflicting experiences. If we step INTO the challenges and INTO the complexities, we might just emerge on the other side with greater peace, wholeness, AND…

A Shanah Tovah u’Metukah – A Good & Sweet New Year!

Sincerely,

Rabbi Gerber

Ki Teitzei: Don't Drag God Into This!

One of the most famous pieces of liturgy in the Jewish tradition is the Kol Nidrei. Even as I write those two words, you may immediately hear the haunting, echoing sound of a cantor chanting this prayer in your head; it's just SO evocative! And the reason it stirs such reactions in many of us has a lot less to do with the words
themselves, and a whole lot more to do with the spiritual, emotional, powerful, holy, pin-drop silent mood that often settles on a sanctuary as the evening of Yom Kippur begins. Even when we can't necessarily express WHY, we just know that Kol Nidrei means so much, and it touches our souls on some deeper level. However, it isn't the Day of Atonement just yet! Right now, Rosh Hashanah is still weeks away, so Yom Kippur is ten days further away than that. But two verses in this week's Torah portion made me think about the Kol Nidrei prayer, and about an intention we may want to focus on, in these weeks of preparation before the High Holidays begin.

As awe-some as the Kol Nidrei mood may feel, the words of the ACTUAL prayer are surprisingly... well, dull. In essence, it is an introductory paragraph - written in Aramaic (in this case, like Jewish legalese...) - that declares publicly that we are annulling all vows and oaths that anyone here may swear from this Yom Kippur
until the next one. Riveting, isn't it? No, clearly not. It does, however, allude to an interesting theology, that was not just held by the ancient rabbis who composed the Kol Nidrei prayer, but was also articulated in Biblical texts like our parashah this week. In Deuteronomy, 23:22-23, the Torah warns us: "When you make a vow to Adonai, your God, do not put off fulfilling it, for Adonai, your God, will require it of you, and you will have incurred guilt; whereas you incur no guilt if you refrain from vowing." My question is, why? Why does God care about each individual's vows and oaths, and whether we fulfill them or not?

Perhaps because our ancestors firmly believed that words mattered. You may have heard me state this before, but I posit that our Jewish tradition resoundingly rejects
the sentiment behind "sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me." Words, you see, can do incredible damage. They can harm well beyond any physical injury. Our forbearers believed it SO strongly, that they contended that your oath - the words coming out of your mouth at any moment - have the power to force the very Creator of the Entire Universe to be your guarantor!! If you don't fulfill your vow, you are making a liar out of God. And this was considered a particularly grievous and blasphemous sin. Like, first-thing-you-want-to-resolve-on-the-Holiest-Day-of-the-Year level of sin!

So maybe that's not your theology. (Spoiler alert: It isn't mine either...) But what if we treated our words with that kind of reverence? What if we acknowledged how powerful they COULD be, and how much damage, pain, and suffering they can

cause? If you've ever truly offended someone, and/or caused terrible destruction with your words, you do discover - excruciatingly swiftly - how dangerous words can be. There is, however, no option to just NOT speak. It is important to remember that the Kol Nidrei prayer doesn't say, "DON'T make vows; don't harm anyone with your words." It's admitting that it happens... a lot. Mistakes are made, and injury is caused. The question isn't whether we should speak or not, but when we DO hurt someone else, how can we try to repair and heal? In this month of Elul, the Season of Repentance, sit for a moment with the incredible power of your very own speech. Reflect on how you've used it in the past, and how it can become a tool for good in the year ahead. You don't need to memorize the "fine print" of the Kol Nidrei prayer, but please don't forget that the core message - there and throughout the Torah - is about how we wield this incredible ability that is our words. Kind of leaves you speechless, doesn't it?


CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. Center for Jewish History on Flickr
2. Richard Masoner on Flickr
3. Dede30 on DeviantArt
4. geralt on Pixabay

Shoftim: In This New Year...

No, there wasn't anything wrong with your browser or your Internet connection; I haven't written a blog post for several weeks. I apologize. I needed a hiatus, a break, some time away, but it was ALWAYS my intention to return to Take on Torah on the other end. I hope I haven't lost you, dear readers - due to my absence online or any other reason. I should have put up an Away-message... but I didn't. I'm sorry. Right now, we are in the Jewish month of Elul, which begins the Season of Repentance and preparation for the High Holidays at the end of the month. So saying "I'm sorry" feels appropriate to the moment, and it also helps me transition into what I wanted to say to you this week, as my Take on Torah blog gets back on track and looks forward into this new year:

"I wish we could just go back to the way it was!" How often don't we hear this phrase, either uttered by someone around us or perhaps quietly whispered inside our own

heads. The past was stable, known, comfortable, and free of surprises. Well, at least in our nostalgic minds it was! And sometimes perhaps things WERE easier or simpler in a bygone era. Regardless, however, of whether we're excited, worried, eager, trepidatious, or feeling some amalgam of emotion; change is inevitable. "The way it was" is frozen in time (and in memory) and is returned to no more easily than it would be to time-travel and visit earth in the Jurassic Period. That isn't always easy to hear or to accept, but it IS true, and the Torah tries to express this sentiment to its readers, just as I'm saying it to you here.

I'll admit, the quote I am about to share is taken *slightly* out of context, but I'm invoking rabbinic license here! Our Torah portion, Shoftim, cautions our ancestors against appointing a king to rule over them. It's a bad idea... and it won't end well. Nevertheless, God acquiesces to their request for a regent, though with many stipulations, restrictions, and guidelines that must be followed. (And a few red flags to watch out for, as well...)

In the middle of this section, the Torah states: "Moreover, he [the king] shall not keep many horses or send people back to Egypt to add to his horses, since Adonai has warned you, “You must not go back that way again” (Deut. 17:16). Again, I will admit (sort of) that the context is referring to Egypt. And another reader might insist that what the text *means* is that no future king may sell his own subjects into bondage in Egypt, in exchange for personal enrichment. But isn't that oddly specific? I mean, our previous "visit" to Egypt wasn't because a king sold us to Pharaoh. So the origin is off. And why does the text emphasize that the monarch can't send people back in return for horses, as if other forms of wealth would be ok?? Or as if it would be fine to do so, as long as it was for the betterment of the country, for national security or communal prosperity. Would it be fine to behave this way, as long as the circumstances were different??

I hope you agree, that the answer is emphatically "NO!" The text isn't actually referring only to Egypt, nor to horses, or even to an unnamed king who will some day try to pummel you into submission. No, I believe it is actually offering us a universal truth:

You can't go back to the way things were. In fact, the Hebrew states, "Derech Ha-Zeh," which literally means "This road"; you can't go back down THIS path, attempting to retrace your steps or recapture some former glory. Life is about moving forward. Yes, we absolutely need to learn from the past, and grow wiser and more considerate with each new experience. We can mourn the past or celebrate that it's finally over. We can feel however we want about it, and those quiet voices inside us may STILL wish, wish, wish that time will move in reverse, and we can go back to "the good ol' days." Eventually, however, we have to face the reality that our only option is to move forward.

So as we prepare for the New Year, and endeavor to use our time in the month of Elul wisely, one concept we need to grapple with is, where are we heading? Is repentance about saying, "let's forget this ever happened!" Can we ever really reset, and just continue as if nothing changed? No, not really. Even Return, Teshuva in Hebrew, is actually about moving forward but with more contemplation, sensitivity, and humility. Learn from your own mistakes, as well as the mistakes of your leaders. We can't go back down a path once taken; but we can learn to tread a bit more carefully and conscientiously with every new step that we take. I'm sorry if that's hard to hear.


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1. ДиБгд on Wikimedia Commons
2. dimitrisvetsikas on Pixabay
3. CLcreate on Etsy
4. Fry1989 on Wikipedia