Take On Torah

A Local Locust Problem

2012-01-24T09:37:00.000-08:00

How do you pick which plague to send first? When God decides to afflict the Egyptians with ten plagues, in order to force them (but really, just hard-hearted Pharaoh) to let the slaves go free, how was the sequence of plagues decided? In fact, how were these ten chosen from among all other things that could be done? We aren't really told why blood came first, then frogs, and so on, through the Death of the First Born, which leaves us a lot of room to speculate. And in doing so, I think we come to realize something essential about Ancient Egyptian society... and about our priorities in life today.

Last week, we read about the first seven plagues, which ranged from causing a serious nuisance (blood, frogs, and lice), to incredible pain (boils and hail), to crippling the economy (death of livestock and hail again). This week we add the final three, and it's interesting to consider why these are so terrible as to come last. Working backwards, the final plague,

death of all first-born Egyptians, is understandably the blow that seals the deal. Plague #9 is interesting, because plunging Egypt into darkness was not only terrifying and paralyzing, but it challenged the essence of Egyptian theology. Ra, the sun-god of Egypt was supposed to be the head honcho, and Pharaoh was the human embodiment of Ra on earth. So to strike them with darkness completely annihilated all semblance of Ra's power, and humiliated Pharaoh.

But what about plague #8, locusts? How are they any different than the lice or insects from earlier plagues? Well, according to the Etz Hayim Torah Commentary, "The locust swarm is one of the worst scourges. An area of one square kilometer can contain 50 million such insects; in a single night they can devour 100,000 tons of vegetation." We're no longer talking inconvenience or even physical

pain; this is the total devastation of an agricultural society. What else are people going to live off? As city-dwellers, it is hard for us to appreciate how shattering such a plague could be for a farming community. But here's where we transition to modern times. It is worth noting that even though we don't have swarms of locusts descending upon us, access to food and the threat of starvation is still a major fear all around the world, and even in many parts of the US. Researchers talk about something they call food deserts, and I urge you to click on that link to learn more about this essential concept. God caused Egypt to become a literal food desert in our parasha, but today's food deserts are often man-made.

Next week, at Ohev Shalom, we will be hosting as our Scholar in Residence, Dr. Jordan Rosenblum, who will be speaking to us about all manner of food-related topics. His titles include, "The Goy of Cooking - Jews and non-Jews in the Rabbinic Kitchen" and "The Jew as Other, and the Other White Meat." I am truly hoping that this weekend

sparks a new debate about food, sustainability, and nutrition, both within the congregation and in relation to our wider community. Starvation is indeed a horrific plague, high even on God's list of punishments to reserve for dire circumstances. Many people are starving, or are seriously under-nourished today. It is, therefore, tempting to ask, is it God's fault or ours? Yet perhaps it's time to put that debate aside, and start focusing instead on how we can make a difference, and how we can get rid of some proverbial 'locusts' right here in our area.

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of Aah-Yeah on Flickr

2. CC image courtesy of luc.viatour on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of glasseyes view on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of tonrulkens on Flickr

I'm coming right back. I promise...

2012-01-19T11:32:00.000-08:00

Why do we lie? Why do we feel the need to dance around the truth, make small 'adjustments' to facts, and sometimes convince ourselves

that white lies aren't really hurting anyone? Perhaps we imagine that brutal honesty does no one any good, so we believe we're actually protecting others (and, let's face it, ourselves) by lying. And I say 'we,' because I'm not exactly innocent myself. It's tough trying to be honest all the time! Even Moses, in this week's Torah reading, finds it hard to just be straight-forward with Pharaoh, and it leaves us feeling pretty uncomfortable about how the story plays out.

Right now, we're in the midst of the dramatic story of the Exodus, and specifically the confrontations between Moses and Pharaoh. Many of

us are familiar with Moses' famous line, "LET MY PEOPLE GO!", and we know about the 10 Plagues. We also might be aware that Pharaoh keeps hardening his heart; promising to let the Israelites leave, and then swiftly changing his mind after each plague is lifted. One part that really bothers me, is when Moses feels he needs to lie to Pharaoh about his ultimate objective.

Five times in our Torah portion - five! - God instructs Moses to say to Pharaoh, "Let My people go that they may worship Me." I suppose it isn't clear to us, the readers, whether God is asking for a temporary reprieve, i.e. a few personal days so the Israelites can pray to God and then RETURN back to Egypt. It's probably left vague on purpose... Moses, however, explicitly lies to Pharaoh, asking for time off so that the slaves can all embark on a three-day journey into the desert, sacrifice to their God, and then return back to resume their servitude. It's certainly clear

from the text that Pharaoh understood it that way, when in chapter 8, verse 24, he says, "I will let you go to sacrifice to the Lord your God in the wilderness; but do not go very far." This whole, "Let my people go" business is a ruse, a sham! Moses is trying to pull a fast one on ol' Pharaoh... and it works! Eventually, after the full ten plagues have decimated the land, Pharaoh acquiesces, and the people head off to sacrifice to the Lord (or so Pharaoh thinks...). The moment Pharaoh realizes he's been hood-winked, and the people are really gone for good, that is when he sends his chariots off to bring them back. Though as we know, that doesn't work out too well for him either...

What would have happened if Moses had said to Pharaoh, "No more games, no more Mr. Nice Guy, we're leaving PERMANENTLY!"? Would Pharaoh have refused? Could his people survive more plagues? Perhaps the standoff would have lasted longer, and by lying, Moses actually spared the Egyptians 17 additional plagues of misery. Perhaps. But personally, I still vote for honesty. It ain't pretty; the

truth can get messy, painful, and awkward, but it can also be liberating. Often times our fear of what 'might' happen if we're honest is much more terrifying than the reality once it plays itself out. Would Pharaoh have resisted? Absolutely. But would the result have ultimately been the same? I believe so, but with a lot more integrity and self-confidence. We shouldn't ever have to lie to protect our right for freedom, or make excuses for demanding equality - not in the Bible, and certainly not today. Sure, we might be able to achieve it through less honorable means, but it will mean so much more when we stand up proudly and declare out loud, "LET MY PEOPLE GO... and for real this time!"

How might honesty change things in your life? It doesn't have to be brutal and unwavering, disguising mean-spirited comments and

hurting people under the cloak of honesty. It isn't all or nothing. But if we're being truthful with ourselves (and that is, after all, the whole point of this blog post), I think there's potential for more honesty in all our lives. If Moses had room to grow - and believe me, he did - so do we. Let's start right now.

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of cinnamon_girl on Flickr

2. CC image courtesy of Desiree N. Williams on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of garethjmsaunders on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of Ron Cogswell on Flickr

5. CC image courtesy of Drodeian on Flickr

Retreating to Holiness

2012-01-12T15:05:00.000-08:00

How do you replenish? Are you able to recharge? If we're going to be

efficient, productive individuals, we really must find a way to unplug, let go, and even retreat away from our hectic lives, so that we won't burn out. We do ourselves a disservice when we push ourselves too hard. It isn't selfish to take some time away; it's essential.

This week, I discovered a place to get away and recharge my batteries. It's called RTI, the Rabbinic Training Institute, and is also known affectionately among rabbis in the Conservative Movement as "rabbi

camp." I spent five days with 70 other rabbis; learning, chatting, swapping stories, eating good food, and even getting a massage! It was terrific. I was especially thrilled to see six former classmates who are now spread across the country (and one in England), and to really spend some time together again. It was phenomenal, and I look forward to sharing some of what I've learned with Ohev Shalom, as well as here on the blog.

For now, I want to just share one small insight regarding this week's Torah portion, and I think it also relates to the notion of taking time away. How does something become a holy space? What makes it special? In our parasha, Moses sees a burning bush while wandering among his sheep, and he turns aside to investigate. It turns out, God's

Presence is in that space, and God tells him to remove his sandals because the ground upon which he is standing is holy. But is it the space itself that is truly holy? An hour before Moses strolled by, was the bush yet lit? And an hour after Moses has departed, is that spot still sacred? How about a year later, or a hundred, or a thousand? I don't believe it is the location that makes something inherently holy, it is so much more. It's the people, the experiences, the relationships. The Pearlstone Retreat Center outside Baltimore isn't necessarily unique on its own (though it happens to be an amazingly beautiful place...), but when filled with phenomenal teachings, enriching activities, and spiritual camaraderie, THAT makes it special.

What are the holy places in your life? What makes them special, and how often do you get there? I guess I don't know this for certain, but I'm betting you should try to bring yourself back there more often.

It can be life-altering and transformative, or just relaxing, nourishing, and fun. Sometimes people think of retreats as luxury or expendable. But they really, truly are not. This week, I also learned that what people hold onto in life are experiences, not material possessions. And I learned a great deal about gratitude. I am very grateful for my week at RTI, for the experience of learning about how to replenish, and for discovering a new holy place in my life. I wish the same for all of you.

Photos in this blog post:

1. Image courtesy of Rabbi Gerber, scene from the Pearlstone Retreat Center.

2. Image courtesy of Rabbi Gerber, JTS class of 2009!

3. Image courtesy of Rabbi Gerber, more from Pearlstone.

4. Image courtesy of Rabbi Gerber, with Rabbi Rafi Kaiserblueth, St. Albans, UK.

Comedic Timing in the Torah

2012-01-05T08:04:00.000-08:00

This week, we're finishing up the Book of Genesis. The story of a family morphs into the story of a nation. But before we bid farewell to Jacob and Joseph, we are given one last
series of stories to remember them by. In these final chapters, we already see the origins of our people; and as Conservative Jews, we have the benefit of reading these stories through the 'true' lens of history. The first readers of these pages knew the outcome, because they were living hundreds of years later. The author of Genesis imagined Jacob realigning the tribes, and lo-and-behold they became the very same tribes we know today. How convenient...

Jacob is close to death. One of his final acts is to tell his son, Joseph, that his inheritance will be a double portion (still playing favorites, I see. Some people never learn...). However, instead of his own name becoming one of the tribes, his two sons, Ephraim and Menashe, will become two tribes in place of their father. Sure enough, there is no Joseph tribe, and we know that in Ancient Israel Menashe and Ephraim were indeed two of the twelve tribes. Furthermore, Jacob declares that the younger brother, Ephraim, will supersede the older. Once again, we know this became reality, because Ephraim grew into one of the strongest of ALL the tribes. A few generations later, The Northern Kingdom of Israel was even called 'Ephraim,' it was such a powerful tribe. So it would certainly not have surprised the ancient reader to hear Jacob declare that, "[Menashe's] younger brother shall be greater than he, and his offspring shall be plentiful enough for nations" (Gen. 48:19).

But I would have to say that my favorite moment in this story comes at the beginning of chapter 48. Jacob makes a long proclamation to Joseph about how his two sons, Ephraim and Menashe, shall be his (Jacob's); that he is adopting them like

his own two sons. Then, in verse 8, we read: "Noticing Joseph's sons, Israel asked, 'Who are these?'" I LOVE IT! He makes a grand statement about adopting these boys, turns around, sees them, and says, 'Who the heck are they?' Every once in a while, the Bible reminds us why there are so many Jewish comedians; no one knows comedic timing better than the Torah!

I learn two things from this wonderful little vignette. 1) The importance of humor. I really mean that. In the middle of a serious scene, a pivotal moment in Jewish history and the death-bed-blessing of a family patriarch, there's still room for a little laughter and levity. Something we should never forget in our own lives as well. And 2) Humility. Jacob is about to elevate these two young boys to a pretty lofty status; higher than any of their cousins. They are being singled

out, and are given very special blessings... and a second later, their grandfather knocks them right back down again. But more than that, Jacob is saying to his grandkids, "Who are you? What are you going to make of yourselves, and how are you going to set yourselves apart from the rest?" Whatever special treatment he gives them won't matter one bit, unless they make the effort to BE special, to live special lives, and carry on the traditions of their ancestors. This too is a question we must all ask ourselves: Who are we? How are we going to make our lives special, and earn the blessings of our ancestor, Jacob? Cause if you don't watch out, and you don't make the effort, he might turn around and look at you and say, "Who the heck are you???"

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of dleell on Flickr

2. Image courtesy of Rabbi Gerber, from the book, Deluxe Then And Now: Bible Maps.

3. CC image courtesy of david_shankbone on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of jrubinic on Flickr

Modern Struggles in an Ancient Family Gathering

2011-12-29T14:39:00.000-08:00

Hello again, everyone! Last week I was away on vacation, and you probably noticed there was no blog post. I'll admit it, I missed you! Well, I'm back, and I am excited to continue our exploration of the wonderful stories told throughout the Bible. So without further ado, let's dive right back in:

As we make our way through the season, the theme of 'family gatherings' seems to loom large. From a modern perspective, this 'season' generally refers to Thanksgiving, Chanukah/Christmas, and New Year's Eve, or at least one of the above. At the same time, from a Biblical perspective, we are also talking about family gatherings; in that this week's Torah portion provides the dramatic conclusion to the Joseph story, where he is finally reunited with his father and his brothers. So everyone gets to be surrounded by relatives this week! And with this unifying theme in mind, I found a fascinating little story tucked away in our parasha that remains as true today as it was 3,000 years ago.

Joseph and his father, Jacob, are back together again. In a beautiful scene, the two men embrace and cry, and everything seems happy and wonderful. But once more we are reminded that these are human beings, not cartoon characters. They are also amazingly familiar, displaying traits that you or I might possess right here and now.

Joseph, excited to see his father and eager to show off his own accomplishments, decides to introduce his dad to his new boss. He brings Jacob to meet Pharaoh, and the two men shake hands. Pharaoh asks Jacob a simple question, "How many are the years of your life?" (Gen. 47:8) Jacob replies, "The years of my sojourn [on earth] are 130." A straightforward enough response, right? So far, so good... and then Jacob begins to embarrass his son. He continues: "Few and hard have been the years of my life, nor do they come up to the life spans of my fathers during their sojourns" (v. 9).

The scene ends awkwardly. Neither man speaks again, and they go their separate ways. I can just picture Joseph, the son, cringing on the inside. In Egypt, he has risen to a position of power; he's established, modern, professional - a yuppie. And now his old-world, old-religion father shows up talking about his ancestors, complaining about all the tzures he's lived through, and generally over-sharing. How often doesn't this happen to parents and kids today, this type of miscommunication? And what's Jacob talking about anyway? He's 130 years old, yet he's upset about how young he is?!? Furthermore, now that he's finally been reunited with his long-lost son, and should be filled with joy and gratitude, why is it he still sounds so miserable? Why is he still kvetching?? As frustrating as this scene might be, it is also wonderfully true to life, even today. I think it speaks volumes about Jacob's mindset, about Joseph's mindset, and about family interactions still facing the same challenges, even after millennia.

We could spend our time debating what each man was trying to convey, but I think that misses the point. To me, this scene reveals something about communication within families. We all struggle with it! The story gives us the freedom to acknowledge we aren't alone, but also encourages us to try and see things from someone else's perspective. Jacob has had a truly hard life... but Joseph hasn't

exactly been living on easy-street either! Sometimes the people closest to us can seem farther away than anyone else. After years of living apart, how can Jacob and Joseph grow to understand one another again, to connect, to see one another as equals? And perhaps most important of all, if we allow ourselves to dig beneath the surface, are we brave enough to admit that our own story really isn't so different from theirs?

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of wlodi on Flickr

2. CC image courtesy of Tag Your Friends on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of gcoldironjr2003 on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of Donna Sullivan Thomson on Flickr

Searching for Life's Hidden Themes

2011-12-15T14:21:00.000-08:00

Can you believe we're almost at the start of 2012? What happened to 2011?!? Time really flies sometimes, doesn't it? Which, of course, makes it all the more essential that we try to take stock, step back, and appreciate life in this very moment, before it whisks away from us. This week, I won't be offering my usual commentary on the Torah portion. Instead, the rapidly approaching New Year inspired me to look back at the index page of my Chumash, where I stumbled upon a fascinating new insight into the Book of Genesis.

Who is the main character in Genesis? Initially, we might have thought it was Abraham, and by the end of the book you might be tempted to suggest Joseph, but ultimately I think it's Jacob. You could, of course, also offer that it's God, but let's posit for a moment that God is the star of the WHOLE Torah, but that Jacob is the protagonist in Genesis. The last six Torah portions deal with Jacob's life, as well as the legacy he leaves behind, specifically through his 12 sons, with Joseph leading the pack. On the index page of any Chumash, you might discover that five of the last six portions have similar sounding titles, in that they are all verbs: Va-yeitzei, Va-yishlach, Va-yeishev, (then Miketz), Va-yiggash, and Va-yechi. Their meanings are: 'And he left,' 'And he sent,' 'And he settled,' ('At the end of...'), 'And he came closer to,' 'And he lived.' What do we make of this pattern?

First of all, they're not all talking about Jacob. The first three are, but then the odd-man-out (Miketz) is talking about Pharaoh, the fifth is about Judah and Joseph, and the last one is Jacob again. But here's what I'd like to suggest: When you take a step outside the story (and if you accept that Jacob is the protagonist), then in fact these six titles DO tell a sequential story of Jacob's life:

He LEFT his home; he was SENT away, first by his parents then by Laban; he thought he was SETTLED and at peace with his family, but then his sons sold Joseph into slavery; AT THE END of a long period, he was reunited with Joseph; he CAME CLOSER TO God; and, in the end, he LIVED a long life and died content. Even though these six words weren't initially referring to Jacob, when strung together they actually do sum up the major events of his life.

But then I really started to think. Last week, my brother, Benjamin, wrote a great blog post (in Swedish) about how Jacob's life is actually a microcosm of Jewish history. His struggles are our struggles, his successes mirror our successes; and as "B'nai Yisrael" - "The Children of Israel/Jacob" our history has very much followed the pattern of our namesake. With that in mind, look again at the names of the six Torah portions. Here's what I came up with: "Throughout our history, sometimes we have chosen to LEAVE places, and sometimes we have been SENT AWAY (read: thrown out). Sometimes we've tried to SETTLE and join our fate to that of our neighbors. IN THE END, there isn't one model that has worked for everyone or at all times. Yet throughout it all, we focus on DRAWING NEAR TO God (prayer, study, ritual, etc.), and that has been the key to LIFE for the Jewish people."

Isn't it interesting, what can happen when we take a step back? When we look for Big Picture clues (and answers) in hidden patterns? You don't have to read into the text the way I did, but I hope it at least provoked some contemplation. If nothing else, try this exercise on your own life, and see what words, phrases, and/or ideas jump out at you. It might give you something to think about, as you head into the New Year. 2013 is it? I don't know, who can keep up?

Happy New Year!

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of *Sally M* on Flickr

2. Image courtesy of Rabbi Gerber

3. CC image courtesy of deb roby on Flickr

4. Image of two very young Gerber brothers courtesy of Deborah Gerber.

5. CC image courtesy of wobble-san on Flickr

Deeds, not Words, To Live By

2011-12-08T10:44:00.001-08:00

When all is said and done, the people we learn from are the ones who impress us with their actions, not with their words. That's why the

expression is, "Lead by example," not "Lead by saying a lot of impressive stuff." We are especially disillusioned when there's significant disparity between words and behavior, when someone doesn't live by their own rules, or is exposed as a fraud or liar. And even with all the role models on TV, in sports, and in the news, at the end of the day, the people we look up to the most are our parents.

When we see our patriarchs (and matriarchs) misbehaving in the Bible, we often fall into the trap of blaming God, or maybe even the individuals themselves. When in fact, we can actually find many clues in the behavior of their parents. Sometimes we don't want to acknowledge this, because it means admitting that we too learned how to behave from our parents; and that our kids are watching our every move... So far, what we know

about Jacob is that he tricked his brother, lied to his father, played favorites among his wives, and was not the most honest of businessmen. So we're not off to a great start. Is it any wonder then, that as we shift down to the next generation, we see similar examples of guile and misbehavior? Later on, we will get to stories of snitches, gloating, selling siblings into slavery, and even some questionable sexual behavior. This week, the 'legacy' of Jacob is already beginning to take shape.

The only story in the Bible about Jacob's lone daughter, Dina, is often called The Rape of Dina. Shechem, the son of a local chieftain, takes Dina by force, and only afterwards decides he wants to ask her family for her hand in marriage. Even though Shechem approaches Jacob, the sons quickly usurp his leadership and handle all the dealings with Shechem themselves. They trick Shechem into having all the men of his town circumcise themselves, and while they are all recovering from surgery, Jacob's two sons, Simeon and Levi, kill everyone! Jacob is outraged, though not because of the heinous nature of their actions. Selfishly, he says to them, "You have brought trouble on me, making me odious among the inhabitants of the land... if they unite against me and attack me, I and my household will be destroyed!" (Gen. 34:30)

Jacob's response is disturbing, but it is really just the final unsavory act at the end of a long list. All along, there's been a lack of parental guidance, support, or instruction. We hear a lot about Divine covenants and heartfelt prayers,

but it really just amounts to a lot of words and promises. Where are the role models? Where is the leading by positive example? And if we see this problem in the Bible, how much more so does it affect all of us today? We are all responsible, and we all have the power to affect positive change; whether you're a teacher, a parent, a rabbi, or none of the above. The people around you - around each and every one of us - aren't waiting to hear what we have to SAY, they're already watching everything we do. So isn't it about time you start doing what you wish other people thought you were doing? I'd say so. Err... I mean, I'd DO so.

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of Stenly Lam on Flickr

2. CC image courtesy of tibbygirl on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of Thirteen of Clubs on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of Andy Hay on Flickr

Naming the Problem (and the Solution)

2011-12-01T07:22:00.001-08:00

What does your name mean? Do you know its origin, its literal translation, and perhaps the history of how it became your name? I've always found this to be a fascinating topic, and even used it as the basis of my Senior Sermon when I was in rabbinical school! Names are important. They inform us about heritage, identity, and sometimes even purpose.

This week's Torah reading involves a lot of naming; and in some ways it is through the examination of those names that we learn about the troubled relationships, heartbreak, and tension between our ancestors. The Biblical characters seem unable to speak TO one another, and so it is through naming that they convey what's really going on.

Jacob is the main protagonist this week. And when his uncle, Laban, tricks him out of marrying the woman he really loves, Jacob suddenly finds himself with four (!) wives: Rachel, Leah, Bilhah, and Zilpah. The women - at least Rachel and Leah, who are the two principal wives - don't get along. Thankfully, they refrain from fighting openly, but when we look at the names they chose for their children, there is no doubting the tension felt between them. So you can see what I'm talking about, here are the names of the twelve sons (the underlined part is the Hebrew word that inspired the name, also transliterated in parentheses):

1. Reuven - Leah's 1st son. Meaning: "Now my husband will love me." (Ye-ehav/Reuven)

2. Simeon (Shimon) - Leah's 2nd son. "The Lord has heard that I was unloved." (Shama/Shimon)

3. Levi - Leah's 3rd son. "This time my husband will become attached to me." (Yilaveh/Levi)

4. Judah (Yehudah) - Leah's 4th son. "This time I will praise the Lord." (Odeh/Yehudah)

5. Dan - Bilhah's 1st son (Rachel's handmaiden, so she names him). "God has vindicated me." (Danani/Dan)

6. Naphtali - Bilhah's 2nd son. "A fateful contest I waged with my sister; yes, and I have prevailed." (Naftulei/Niftalti/Naphtali)

7. Gad - Zilpah's 1st son (Leah's handmaiden, so she names him). "What luck!" (Bah Gad/Gad) I guess Leah was getting bored of thinking up names...

8. Asher - Zilpah's 2nd son. "What fortune!" (Be-Ashri/Asher)

9. Issachar - Leah's 5th son. "God has given me my reward." (Sechari/Issachar)

10. Zebulun - Leah's 6th son. "This time my husband will exalt me." (Yizbeleini/Zebulun)

11. Joseph (Yosef) - Rachel's 1st son. "God has taken away my disgrace." (Assaf/Yosef)

12. Benjamin (Binyamin) - Rachel's 2nd son. Rachel dies in childbirth, but as she's dying, she calls her son, 'Ben-Oni,' meaning 'son of my sorrow.' But Jacob renames the infant, "Binyamin."

What do we make of these names? Or perhaps more importantly, how were these boys meant to internalize the legacy passed down to them through these horrific name choices? Sadly, not much has changed. Still today, we see parents giving their children ridiculous names. And we certainly all know stories of parents taking out their issues, frustrations, disappointments, and unfulfilled dreams on their kids. We tell ourselves that children are a blank slate, an empty canvas waiting to be filled with knowledge, skill, and talent. Yet all too often parents use that canvas for graffiti and vandalism!

Our name can be a banner for who we are; a business card that tells other people whether to take us seriously or treat us like children. The Torah shows us, however, that often the name says more about the parents than about the child! Nevertheless, each person needs to be the master of his or her own destiny. At some point, we must let go of the legacy of our mother and father, and forge a path that is uniquely ours. The sons of Jacob didn't exactly get off to a great start;

being forced to shlep around the emotional baggage of their parents in their names. Yet these twelve sons became the history-changing Twelve Tribes of Israel, and ultimately they took control of their own fate. No matter what was handed down to you by your ancestors and your parents, you too can do the same.

Photos in this blog post:

1. Image courtesy of (a very young) Rabbi Gerber

2. CC image courtesy of hans s on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of Lieutenant Pol on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of Chor lp on Flickr

A Recipe For Good 'Hodu'

2011-11-23T11:37:00.001-08:00

And so, once again, it is time for Thanksgiving. You might have thought this holiday was about pilgrims, Indians, and stuffing, but in fact it's roots are much, much more ancient than that. In Psalm 118,

verse 1, we read, "Give thanks to the Lord, for God is good; God's lovingkindness endures forever." Obviously, this line is about giving thanks, i.e. Thanksgiving! However, did you also know that the Hebrew word for 'giving thanks' is 'Hodu,' which ALSO means 'turkey'?? No joke, people. "Hodu L'Adonai Ki Tov" is talking about BOTH giving thanks AND turkey. Feel free to bring that little gem with you to dinner on Thursday night... :-)

While we're on the subject of Thanksgiving, a big part of the holiday involves spending time with family. And coincidentally, this week's Torah portion is all about family. The name of our parasha is Tol'dot, which means 'generations,' and it tells the story of Isaac, his wife, Rebecca, and their two sons, Esau and Jacob. Unfortunately, it's not the most harmonious group, and our Torah portion is filled with deception, lies, yelling, crying, and family members swearing at one another. For some, this ALSO describes Thanksgiving dinner, so once again, a funny little coincidence...

Yet underneath the surface of this story, I think we find an important question; one which we don't always acknowledge, but is often true for us all. What does 'family' mean? We have no control over who gets thrust into a shared gene pool with us, so just like our patriarchs in

Tol'dot, the fact that people are related doesn't guarantee that they will get along. 'Family' should be something we create, not something we complain about to a therapist. Each of us has the ability to form a family of loving, caring, devoted individuals. For some people, that group includes relatives, for others it's friends, and for the lucky ones, it's both. In the Torah, Jacob and Esau aren't able to reconcile their differences, but they each go off and form a family of their own, and each brother finds peace in his own way...

When you sit down for dinner on Thursday night, look at the people sitting around the table. Take a moment to think about what the notion of 'family' means to you, and how you are successfully being an active agent, creating a family of supportive, nurturing, generous, and warm people, in your own life. Don't forget that a big part of the puzzle is looking at yourself, and thinking about how you provide these things for others. When we understand ourselves, and think about 'family' in those proactive terms, then I think we will truly have a successful Thanksgiving filled with "Hodu"... in both senses of the word!

Happy Thanksgiving!

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of martha_chapa95 on Flickr

2. CC image courtesy of exfordy on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of dan taylor on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of Horia Varlan on Flickr

Why The Binding Can Never Be Untied

2011-11-17T11:19:00.001-08:00

Last week, I was bothered by our Torah reading. Which isn't to say it was the first time this had happened, but something about the trouble I was having seemed unique. I had read the stories of Sodom and Gomorrah before, as well as the other stories pertaining to immoral behavior, unethical actions, and disturbing sexual situations. Let's face it; a lot of weird (and upsetting) stuff happens in Genesis! But I was finding it particularly difficult to practice my Torah readings and plan out what I was going to say in services on Shabbat, given what's been happening at Penn State, and the unfolding of a pretty horrific sex scandal.

I was, therefore, pretty thankful when we were done with last week's Torah reading, so we could put the whole sordid mess behind us... but like the Penn State scandal, the pain continues. Last week's reading contained the Binding of Isaac, a story in which God "tests" Abraham by telling him to offer his young son, Isaac, as a sacrifice. Abraham willingly goes along with it, and only at the last minute does an angel block Abraham's hand, and stop him from actually killing his son. Bizarrely, the text tries to convince us this is all a good thing, and that Abraham has now proven his worth. But just like the story unfolding in State College, PA, where for a while we were distracted by stories about an idolized football coach, riots in the streets, and questions about a most peculiar phone interview; in the end, the question is, and should always be, what about the children?

In the case of the Bible, God and Abraham play a high-stakes game of chicken, which is (or really isn't) fine, but the life that's at stake is Isaac's. He is like a sad, traumatized pawn in this ordeal, and no one seems to want to really deal with the question, what did this horrible experience do to him? And when we read the text closely, we in fact see that something is very wrong. The last time we heard Isaac speak was when he asked his father where the lamb was for their sacrifice... and his father lied to him. Then, Isaac never spoke again in last week's Torah portion.

Lots of things happen around him this week, but Isaac himself never says a single word in our entire parasha, and this continues into next week's reading, where it takes a full chapter before he finally opens his mouth again. And by the way, when he does, he himself speaks a lie. The kid is traumatized. It isn't articulated explicitly, but so what? We have to stop using that as an excuse. We need to protect Isaac, like we need to protect the abused kids from The Second Mile, even when they don't know how to protect themselves. We need to stop waiting for someone ELSE to act, or to call the police for us; we are obligated (by our own conscience, if not by law) to be proactive. Please see that both of these stories are speaking directly to you and me.

Later on, when Isaac is an old man, he goes blind. The rabbinic commentators tell us it's a repercussion after seeing his father standing over him holding a knife, when he was a child. Trauma doesn't just disappear; it didn't 4,000 years ago, and it's still true today. The aftermath for these kids is unimaginable for most of us, but that is all the more reason why we must not let ourselves forget. The Binding of Isaac never went away, and neither should our vigilance and our outrage at what has happened today.

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of gideon_wright on Flickr

2. CC image courtesy of carulmare on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of slimdandy on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of ~Brenda-Starr~ on Flickr

Striving To Be More Than A Lot

2011-11-10T06:54:00.001-08:00

"God helps those who help themselves." I'm sure many of you are familiar with this quote. It sounds kind of Biblical, but is actually not in the Bible at all. Some say it comes from one of Aesop's fables; others attribute it to Benjamin Franklin, from his yearly publication, Poor Richard's Almanack. In fact, if anything you might say that the Bible espouses a very different philosophy, namely that God helps the helpless. We see a very good example of this in the Torah portion, Vayera, which we are reading in synagogue this week.

Our parasha tells the story of Sodom and Gomorrah; two cities overrun with lawlessness, and which God has finally decided to destroy. Only one inhabitant is worth saving, namely Abraham's nephew, Lot. Two angels arrive at Lot's home, and inform him of the impending annihilation. We read: "As dawn broke, the angels urged Lot on... Still, he delayed. So the men (angels) seized his hand... and brought him out and left him outside the city" (Gen. 19:15-16). Amazingly, we see that even when they knew their lives were in danger, Lot and his family members kept dragging their feet.

Then, even after he has been saved, Lot starts nit-picking with the angels about where to resettle. They tell him he'll be safe in the hills, but he says to them, "I cannot flee to the hills, lest the disaster overtake me and I die!" (19:19) But they just told him he'd be safe, why doesn't he believe them?!? As a final demonstration of their lack of faith, and unwillingness to help themselves, Lot's wife turns around to look at the destruction - even though the family was told not to look back - and she is subsequently turned into a pillar of salt.

Lot and his household seem frustratingly unable (or unwilling?) to help themselves throughout this story. They procrastinate, they whine, they object, and they disobey. For a while, it even seems puzzling why God thought to save Lot in the first place, until we read that it wasn't for his own merit. The Torah tells us, "God was mindful of Abraham and removed Lot from the midst of the upheaval" (19:29). So he was basically only saved because his uncle was 'a bigshot.' How cliché... This certainly helps us understand why the Torah depicts Lot as such a shlemiel, but it doesn't necessarily give us any takeaway from this story. Why does the Torah share so much about Lot's failings and shortcomings?

I think it's because many of us see these traits in ourselves. We'd like to think we're more like Abraham, but often in life we behave like Lot. Even when we know we should take the high road, we falter. We know what needs to be done, yet we make excuses, we procrastinate, and we try to deflect responsibility. We often skip over the story of Lot, but I feel that it really speaks to human emotions like fear, waffling, and anxiety. Perhaps spending a few minutes reading about Lot will allow each of us to search ourselves, to acknowledge that sometimes we are Lot, and to reflect on how we might go about changing that. We'd all like to think we're already the best we could be, but sometimes that inclination stops us from trying to improve. Let us strive instead to help ourselves by admitting fault and flaw. It's not easy to do, but if you can really give it a shot, I promise you'll feel a Lot better!

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of Paul Lowry on Flickr

2. CC image courtesy of quinn.anya on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of Roadside Guitars on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of Qfamily on Flickr

The Portrait of Abraham as a Young Abram

2011-11-03T14:34:00.000-07:00

You meet a lot of people when you're a rabbi. You see people at so many different stages of life; viewing only snapshots of them at any one given moment in a much longer life of experiences, emotions, and growth. Each one of us - every person - is so much more than just the sum of what we've done. Sometimes there are moments in our lives that define us, but even they are not the culmination of our being. Life is truly a journey, with many stops and restarts, sections and detours. The Torah certainly shows us that every human being is both unique, and also infinitely complex.

This week, we are introduced to Abraham. When I say 'Abraham,' you may already have conjured up an association or two in your mind. Perhaps the Binding of Isaac stands out for you. Or Abraham's defense of Sodom and Gomorrah... right before the two cities were destroyed. And if I asked you to draw a picture of him, you might depict him as an old man, with long flowing robes, a staff in hand, and with the quintessential long, white beard. A lot like Moses, in fact, or any number of Biblical patriarchs. But in this week's Torah portion,

we see a very different Abraham, or actually Abram, as he is called before God renames him. We are introduced to a younger man who joins forces with five powerful kings to wage war against four other, seemingly more powerful, monarchs. Abram enters the conflict to rescue his nephew, Lot, who was taken captive by the four, evil rulers. Not only does Abram fight, he is in fact the hero who turns the tide and gives his allies a decisive victory! Why don't we hear more about THIS Abram in Hebrew School?!?

Furthermore, there are large parts of Abraham's life that we know nothing about. We only actually meet him for the first time when he is already married; whatever happened to Abram, the little boy, or Abram, the rebellious teenager? The rabbis fill in the gaps with midrashim, rabbinic tales that help us imagine what Abram MIGHT have been like in his youth. But the fact remains: The Bible leaves out large parts of Abraham's story. And even the parts we DO get, we often neglect; focusing instead on Abraham as an old man, recounting only stories of him at the end of his life, and his infamous Near Sacrifice of his son, Isaac. But on the other hand, isn't this true for all of us?

Except for (possibly...) our most immediate family members, rarely do we know people at every stage of their lives. Those we befriend when we are young disappear, and those we meet later in life somehow managed to exist long before we knew them. We have a hard time imagining infants growing into world-changing adults; and we cannot picture elders being any younger than they are right now. And like Abraham, many famous (and infamous) people are defined by specific moments and choices; yet even they lived complex lives, and presumably experienced all the hopes and dreams, fears and insecurities, childishness and maturity, that we afford ourselves.

In this week's parasha, we have the opportunity to see Abraham as a younger man, to view his character with a bit more fullness and depth. In the blink of an eye (or really until next week), that opportunity will be gone, and we'll be moving onto the next Biblical stories. Our own lives can feel like that sometimes as well, moving almost as fast as the Torah portions of the Bible. And the same is true of our relationships with the people around us, which often appear and disappear with great haste. Savor them. All of them. Take a moment to hold onto the stories the Torah is teaching us. Take some time also to appreciate the people with whom you share this small slice of life. And most importantly, take a minute (or two) to reflect on, and acknowledge where, and who, you are right now. It goes fast; just ask Abraham!

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of Nanagyei - (Trying to catch up) on Flickr

2. CC image courtesy of Juliana Coutinho on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of limaoscarjuliet on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of jm3 on Flickr

5. CC image courtesy of Dazzie D on Flickr

What Happens When The Flood Stops?

2011-10-26T17:24:00.000-07:00

Do you know which expression I've always found kind of creepy? (Appropriate to the week before Halloween, I suppose.) "Be careful what you wish for... because it might come true." It's not that I disagree with it, in fact it's more the opposite. Having seen this expression play out perfectly, I'm bothered by how accurate it is, and how hard it is to learn from it. Most things in life have the potential of becoming double-edged swords, where there are both advantages and disadvantages lurking around the corner. The lesson is to be aware of both, to live life in moderation and with careful planning, and to still, despite the risks, keep on wishin'.

This week, we read about Noah and the Flood. You may already know the basic story: The world is wicked; Noah is a good guy; God has Noah build an ark to save himself, his family, and a whole boat-load (literally!) of animals; everyone else is wiped out and the world starts again with Noah. Well, at the end of the story, something in the text caught my eye. After Noah leaves the ark, God proclaims, "Never again will I doom the earth because of man, since the devisings of man's mind are evil from his youth; nor will I ever again destroy every living being, as I have done" (Gen. 8:21). Phew! Thank goodness, right? That's it for devastating floods that wipe out life on earth. We're saved!!

Ah, but don't forget: "Be careful what you wish for..." It's true that God won't ever destroy all life on earth, but that also means that if we descend into lawlessness, we're on our own! Look at the above verse again: "since the devisings of man's mind are evil from his youth." God is reminding us that even though we still have the capacity for the kind of pre-flood evil we had previously perpetrated (think Nazism, genocide, etc.), God won't intervene. It is now up to us to save the planet, or in the words of Gandhi, it is up to us to be the change we wish to see in this world.

In fact, we even learn this in the very next scene in our Torah portion. Noah leaves the ark, plants a vineyard, and promptly gets himself drunk as his first act of new life on earth. A proud moment for
humankind... Avivah Zornberg, a phenomenal Torah commentator, writes about how Noah is actually a second Adam. She points to several interpretations that suggest the "fruit" Adam and Eve sinned with was actually grapes; and that Noah "proceeds to make exactly the same mistakes that the first Adam made." This time, however, God says nothing. God does not intervene. The repercussions for our actions are now in our own hands.

It sounds ominous, I know. But it doesn't have to be all that bad. Just like our creepy expression at the start of this post, the answer is not that we should stop wishing. We just have to be more careful; realize that everything in life involves cause and effect, as well as advantages and disadvantages. Sure, we're on our own, and God won't rescue us if we mess up the planet. But this also represents the birth of free will, one of our most prized possessions as human beings. God is actually giving us an unbelievable gift; the ability to mature, to learn from our mistakes, and to strive, together, to make this world a little bit better. Is it scary? Yes, I would have to say so. Daunting? For sure. But it's also exhilarating, because it is truly the chance of a lifetime. So who needs God to wipe the slate clean?? We've got all the tools we need right here to do it ourselves. So let's move beyond wishing, and let's get to work!

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of Guitarwarlord on Flickr

2. CC image courtesy of Ken's Oven on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of U.S. Embassy New Delhi on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of ideacreamanuelaPps on Flickr

5. CC image courtesy of flattop341 on Flickr

The Need to Redeem

2011-10-19T14:05:00.000-07:00

Change happens pretty fast sometimes. You think you know something, you've just gotten used to the fact that it's always going to be like that, and all-of-a-sudden, change! It's a fast-paced world, and you've got to stay pretty alert if you want to keep up. For five years, we prayed for the release of Gilad Shalit, and Israeli soldier captured by Hamas. For five years, it seemed like he was lost, and we feared the worst. And then, out of nowhere, we found out that a deal was being negotiated. Before we even had time to process that revelation, videos were up on Youtube showing him hugging his family after five, long years.

Change does indeed happen rapidly... and it's often just as fraught with complexity. What happens now? How will this affect the hope for peace in the Middle East? Was this a step in the right direction... or the wrong one? When will we know? There are no easy answers to these questions. The more you read about the prisoner exchange, the more difficult it is to decide (if there even is such a thing as a final decision) whether this deal should have been done or not.

And in the future - whether days, weeks, months or years from now - we may feel quite differently than we do now. Today we see Gilad hugging his family. Today we are reminded of the Jewish value of Pidyon Shvuyim, the releasing of captives. We recall the words of Maimonides, who said that one who ignores ransoming captives is guilty of violatingessential commandments such as: “you shall not harden your heart”; “you shall not standidly by the blood of your brother”; and “you shall love your neighbor asyourself.”And today we also remember that the Israeli government considers redeeming captives to be a paramount principle; maintaining that if an Israeli soldier sees that the State will notredeem its soldiers for a high price, they will retreat from the battlefieldinstead of facing the enemies and risking capture.

Tomorrow we may regret these sentiments. We are already terrified that the price has become too high, that we've incentivized future kidnappings. But what was the alternative? What else could have been done? Again, there are no easy answers. I doubt many of us would want Bibi's job right about now; no matter how sweet it is for him to have brought Gilad back from captivity. We cannot know

the future, we can only hope and pray that this deal leads to peace and dialogue, progress and reconciliation. It requires a leap of faith. It requires that we not only trust the Israeli government, and their ability to make good decisions, but that we also trust the people on the other side of the fence. And that is hard, for some almost impossible, to do. We even need to have a little trust in the world community, and that hasn't always worked out well for us either. But what else can we do?

Our Jewish tradition tells us that, "He who saves one soul, it is as though he has saved an entireworld." Today, it almost feels as if this is more true than ever before. One life has been saved, and a nation celebrates. Now there is a chance that worlds can be saved as well. Will it happen? Who knows? But I hope and pray that we have taken a step in the right direction. And not just a step... a leap of faith!

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of Israel Defense Forces on Flickr

2. CC image courtesy of Wesley Fryer on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of Israel Defense Forces on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of woodleywonderworks on Flickr

Sermons, videos, and (lighter than usual) blog posts for the holidays

2011-10-12T15:20:00.000-07:00

Chag Sameach - Happy Holiday!

The greetings change, but the holidays continue. Now that Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are both behind us, you might have thought that the holiday season was over. You'd be wrong! In fact, on Wednesday evening we launch into another holiday, Sukkot. We now move the party outdoors, and settle into the Sukkah (outdoor hut), for a little communing with nature. It also brings us back to the days of the Exodus, wandering in the desert (fall weather, be damned!) and living in nomadic, temporary dwellings. I guess they too hung up paper chains and plastic fruit, and had to contend with tarp-issues; my, how little has changed in 4,000 years!

Anyway, the celebration of yet another festival has made it challenging to get back into the normal weekly routine. Therefore, in lieu of a "regular" blog post, I will be offering you another set of High Holiday videos on our synagogue website. Unfortunately, the new videos are not yet available, but will be on the website by Monday, October 17th. Once they're there, I would like to draw your attention to the final sermon, and in particular the story that I shared at our Neilah services at the end of Yom Kippur. The Day of Atonement may be in the past, but the messages of the season remain. On the Shabbat of Sukkot, we will be reading selections from the Book of Ecclesiastes, or Kohelet in Hebrew. It is indeed quite appropriate to be reading this book on Sukkot, because it reminds us of the fragility of life, the importance of living in the moment, and the idea of making the best of every minute of every day. Spending time in a Sukkah, especially during rain, wind, and sometimes even snow (try growing up in Sweden, and you'll understand...), definitely helps you focus on the precariousness of life. And this is also the message of my final High Holiday sermon.

Thank you for sticking with my blog during this trying holiday season. I promise to get back into the regular swing of things soon enough. In the meantime, enjoy the string of holidays ahead, don't eat too much, pray just enough, and I'll see you on the other side.

Chag Sameach!

Images courtesy of Rabbi Gerber and Congregation Ohev Shalom.

Happy New Year and G'mar Tov!

2011-10-05T10:04:00.000-07:00

Shana Tovah - Happy New Year!

I apologize for my absence from the blogging-world last week, but as you can imagine, I've had my hands quite full with the High Holidays. I am still very much in the midst of holiday preparations and sermonizing, so I will not be writing an official blog post once again. Being that this is the season of atonement and apologizing - Sorry.

However, in case you are curious about what I've been up to, and what I've been writing, you can actually watch my sermons yourself. If you're interested, I have recorded my three Rosh Hashanah sermons for your viewing pleasure. After Yom Kippur, I will attempt to put those speeches up as well. Furthermore, if you are planning on joining us at Ohev Shalom for Yom Kippur, you may want to peruse these recordings, because all my sermons are actually linked together. As I told the Jewish Exponent in last week's paper, my sermons this year are all about "a sense of community," and each sermon will contribute another piece of the puzzle through to the end of Neilah on Saturday night.

So I apologize again for no blog post, but if you DO check out the videos, please write and let me know what you think. Thanks so much!

Even though it is still a New Year, the greeting we offer one another changes for Yom Kippur. We now offer each other a G'mar Chatima Tovah (say that five times fast...), which means, essentially, "May you have a good end to this season, and may you be sealed in the Book of Life." Or you can also shorten it and just say:

G'mar Tov!

Photo in this blog post courtesy of Ohev Shalom.

What To Fill Your Heart With

2011-09-22T11:38:00.000-07:00

This season sure is full of activity! Our Hebrew School is full of kids, our preparations for the High Holidays are in full swing, everyone's gearing up for a baseball postseason (hopefully...) full of success, and certainly in this part of the country the rain has been most plentiFUL. But let's stop for a second and examine that word, "full." It just so happens (strange coincidence indeed) that our new High Holiday prayerbook, our Machzor, is titled "Lev Shalem," which means "a full heart." Or does it?

The word for heart, "Lev" (and the Biblical form "Levav"), is straightforward, but the translation of "Shalem" is a lot more ambiguous. The phrase can actually be found in the Machzor itself, during the silent Amidah, where we read: “Put Your awe upon all whom You have made … let Your works revere You … and form one fellowship to worship you with a levav shalem.” But we still have to
ask ourselves, what is a "Lev Shalem," and how do we get one? In the most recent issue of the magazine CJ:Voices of Conservative/Masorti Judaism, Rabbi Elliot B. Gertel wrote an article examining the different potential meanings of "Lev Shalem." In it, Rabbi Gertel goes through possibilities like "a perfect heart," "a peaceful heart," "a complete heart," and "a full heart," and in the end rejects them all. He writes, "A lev shalem is a heart of integrity. It is a sincere, undivided heart." For Rabbi Gertel, the focus is on willingness to participate in community, to come to the High Holiday service with a desire to change, an openness to new perspectives, and an eagerness to serve and give back.

While I like his ultimate conclusion, and certainly agree that sincerity is crucial to this season of repentance and change, I find Rabbi Gertel's position to be too prescriptive. Why do we need to settle on a "correct" translation of this phrase? What I love about the title of our new prayerbook is precisely its ambiguity! I am drawn in by its mystique, its multifaceted potential. I may have a sense of what "Lev Shalem" means to me, but why can't it mean something else to you? Our hearts are the center of our emotional beings, and so the "type" of heart we bring with us to services reflects what's going on in our lives. Each person comes to services looking for something specific to him or her. When the Cantor begins to sing Kol Nidrei, we each, in a sense, hear something different, and our hearts are touched in unique ways.

Where are you this High Holiday season? In addition to a head covering, a tallit, and a new set of threads, what kind of heart will you be bringing with you on Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur? And by the way, "Lev Shalem" might refer to where we hope our hearts will be by the end of the High Holidays; it isn't necessarily referring to how you arrive. You may come searching for a "perfect heart," or longing for a "peaceful heart," and if that is the case, I sincerely hope you find what you're looking for.

In this week's Torah reading, Moses is quickly coming to the end of his life. He seems desperate to secure his legacy, and make sure the Israelites remain true to God and the commandments. What is Moses'
state-of-mind? Or perhaps more poignantly, what is his state-of-heart? Is he able to enter this period of his life with a "Lev Shalem"? Like Moses, we each have to come to terms with the choices we have made and the paths our lives have taken. The ability to look back at the end and say that life was lived to its fullest is not about the facts, not about the details of what happened and when. It's about perspective. It's about how we view life, and how we should strive to feel good, content, satisfied, and at peace. In short, it's about obtaining a "Lev Shalem."

Photos in this blog post:

1. Image courtesy of Ohev Shalom

2. CC image courtesy of garlandcannon on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of Ohev Shalom

4. CC image courtesy of quinn.anya on Flickr

5. CC image courtesy of Naimi&virg on Flickr

Lessons from a Desert(ed) Classroom

2011-09-15T09:43:00.000-07:00

As the new school year begins, Ohev Shalom is once again filled with the presence of young people. From the infants and toddlers in Federation's Kehillah program, to religious school kids returning to their studies, our B'nai Mitzvah students, and the incoming Confirmation class; we run the gamut here inside our building. It is with that in mind that I look at this week's Torah portion, Ki Tavo.

One question keeps popping back into my head as I read this parasha, how do we get people to buy in? How can you facilitate someone's Jewish journey, creating a positive and meaningful, fun yet educational, spiritual and historic, modern yet traditional, specific but not exclusionary, amazing Jewish experience??? Piece of cake, right? We have all these young folk scurrying through our building, and we want them to care about Judaism, we're just not always sure how to get there. We think we know. We know the approach we're going to take, and we know the SWBAT's (Students Will Be Able To. Thank you, MA in Jewish Education...) that we want to achieve, but there are no guarantees. It's frustrating. BUT, it's also nice to know that God and Moses struggled with the very same issues.

Our Torah reading highlights different approaches that Moses and God tried to take in order to get the Israelites to subscribe to the new Exodus Agenda (my title). The people are at the border of the Promised Land. The goal is simple: Get in there, sweep away idolatry, create a country with new cities and towns, build a Temple, and establish a new religion, culture, and society. Yikes! Understandably, you need people to subscribe to your philosophy, and get really excited about it, or this enterprise is going to be awfully short-lived... I read a wonderful Torah commentary this week by Shira Epstein, a professor in Jewish Education (and former teacher of mine) at JTS in New York.

Dr. Epstein points out different "modalities," ways to educate, that are used in our parasha. Moses goes back and forth between praising, admonishing, teaching, preaching, and encouraging the people to feel connected. They are given "activities" to create a connection to God and the land, and they are chastised for bad behavior they may be tempted to engage in sometime in the future. Dr. Epstein writes, "each of the activities Moshe describes is what educators might view as a 'scaffold' to help the people ultimately feel invested in both venerating their lineage and their land, and thus, preserving the laws that guide their everyday communal practices."

Our biggest problem with this Torah portion, however, is the lengthy list of curses, known as the Tochecha, that Moses launches against the people. What kind of an educational model is that?!? But as any parent or teacher will tell you, there's the ideal... and there's reality. Like stubborn and insolent children, the Israelites only occasionally respond to reward and encouragement; sometimes they also need reprimands and a timeout in the corner. And like with parenting, we often have comments and "helpful" suggestions for other parents; we just never want that well-intentioned advice ourselves! It's easy to judge how Moses handles the Israelites, and point out the flaws in his leadership style. As we get closer and closer to the High Holidays, let's not forget to look back at ourselves, and the relationships we've created with children, students, and peers. Or even parents, teachers, and colleagues. Imagine for a minute how hard it would be if you yourself were in Moses' sandals!

Instead, let's put aside the judgment, yet hold onto the underlying lesson: How do you create buy-in? What gets someone excited and enthusiastic, and how do you empower him or her to take ownership? These were the questions facing Moses and God, and they continue to challenge us to this day. But wrestling with this challenge does remind us we're still on the journey, and we're still engaging with Judaism and caring about the next generation. And that truly is half the battle right there.

Photos in this blog post:

1. Image courtesy of Ohev Shalom

2. CC image courtesy of ewige on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of Anthony Shemmans on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of Ken Wilcox on Flickr

5. CC image courtesy of emdot on Flickr

In Tragedy, A Lesson On Limitless Love

2011-09-08T09:07:00.000-07:00

I really don't like writing about the same things year after year. Some Torah portions have prominent stories that lend themselves particularly well to interpretation and commentary, but I get tired of focusing on the same stuff over and over. I like searching for fresh angles and new insights, different ways of looking at the same text. Sometimes, however, a new insight finds me.

One of this week's big stories deals with the law of the stubborn and rebellious child. According to our parasha, if a set of parents have a defiant son, described as a glutton and a drunkard who does not heed their words, they should bring him to the city gates for a public trial. There, if he is found guilty, "the men of his town shall stone him to death" (Deuteronomy 21:21). The Bible concludes this disturbing instruction by informing us that, "Thus you will sweep out evil from your midst: all Israel will hear and be afraid." This teaching has always troubled me, as I'm sure it does you. The rabbis try to mitigate the severity of this law by limiting its applicability; declaring ultimately that no child could be liable for this sentence. Of course, that only makes me feel slightly better; I've still always been appalled that the Torah could ever suggest this type of punishment in the first place. But this week, I gained a new perspective on this teaching.

As some of you already know, during the past week at Ohev Shalom we held a memorial service for a 21-year old young man who died tragically and suddenly. It was, and is, a horrific situation, and the more I learned about this individual and his family, the more upset I became. There are no answers to a tragedy like this one, no explanations or excuses that will make us feel alright with the world for allowing this to happen. And there were many things that were also heart-breaking about the struggles and challenges that he faced his entire life. But what dawned on me in thinking about our Torah reading, is that his parents never, never gave up on him. It was terribly sad, yet somehow also beautiful, that throughout all his difficulties, everything he had to face and which he sometimes couldn't beat, his parents were his greatest cheerleaders. They were proud of him, they encouraged him, they did everything humanly possible for him, and even when it became clear that it wasn't enough, they never stopped trying.

Unlike our Torah portion, the memorial service this week taught me about how unconditional and endless love can be. Our parasha talks about giving up, but sometimes love reminds us not to. When we get to the High Holidays in a few weeks, we will once again focus on teshuva, on repentance and forgiveness. We remind ourselves that God never gives up on us; that God waits till the very last moment - and sometimes even beyond - to let the repentant sinner turn around and be forgiven. If God can do it, so must we. I am once again bolstered in my rejection of this law of the stubborn and wayward child. This week, in the midst of tragedy and heart-wrenching grief, I learned a valuable lesson about the endless power of love.

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of loufi on Flickr.

2. CC image courtesy of zakwitnij on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of Ravenscar on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of Nisha A on Flickr

Refusing to be Undermined by God

2011-09-01T10:29:00.000-07:00

Leadership needs to be clearly established. It can't be dubious, tenuous, or unstable, because it leads to chaos. There can certainly be changes of leadership, but when that happens, it needs to be done well, or we're back to the chaos we were fighting to avoid in the first place. The Bible recognizes this, but quite honestly struggles to figure out how to make it work. It's as if God is kind of new at this whole human-beings-with-free-will gig, and is learning over time. Sometimes even God needs a learning curve.

The beginning of our Torah portion tells us, "You shall appoint magistrates and officials for your tribes, in all the settlements that the Lord your God is giving you, and they shall govern the people with due justice" (Deut. 16:18). We are also later given the laws of how to choose a king, and how that king should rule, as well as various legal statutes to help govern our society. But there's one problem that persists, one pretty major player who threatens to ruin the entire system: God. As long as there is a Divine voice telling us what to do, there is no way that a human court can succeed. Just ask Moses how easy it was to lead the Israelites through the desert...

The problem is, we always want God to tell us what to do. It's true, we like the idea of a court of human judges, but only right up until the moment they hand down an unfavorable verdict. When that happens, we try to appeal to a higher court, then an even higher court, and eventually we demand that our case go to the Highest Court: the one in heaven. It undermines the entire system! There is a wonderful rabbinic midrash (story), wherein a group of rabbis were arguing about how to rule in a particular case. One rabbi, Rabbi Eliezer, held the minority opinion, and he called upon God to display miracles to prove that he was right. Miracle after miracle indeed appeared to show that he was correct, but the other rabbis refused to change their minds, until ultimately Rabbi Joshua looked upward and yelled out, "Lo Bashamayim Hi," "It is not in heaven!" God cannot step in and decide for us, or we will never trust ourselves to make choices, stand by our opinions, or build up a functional society.

Today, you often hear people say that God told them to do one thing or another. I respectfully disagree with them, because I don't think God speaks directly to individuals, telling us to do, say, or believe anything. God endowed us with free will in order to make those decisions for ourselves. The first time that God actually steps in and tells you what to do, you'll never trust yourself to make another decision again. "Do I want waffles or pancakes for breakfast? Eh, I can't decide. God, a little help please?"

We don't hear a Divine voice the way people did in the Bible, because God finally realized that intervening cripples us. God tried to step in with our ancient ancestors, but eventually realized it was preventing them from ever truly becoming independent and self-reliant. God's heavy-handedness doesn't help us along, and it doesn't solve any of our problems. We need to make it work on our own. That doesn't mean, however, that God is absent in the world. God is always there - always - to offer support, comfort, strength, courage, and a proverbial shoulder to cry on. Sometimes even a punching bag when life treats us unfairly or when tragedy strikes and all we want to do is yell at the world. But in the end, we all have to figure out our own path to walk, and then just start walking.

Photos in this blog post:

1. Image courtesy of Rabbi Jeremy Gerber.

2. CC image courtesy of Valerie Everett on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of the prodigal untitled 13 on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of TheCulinaryGeek on Flickr

5. CC image courtesy of anna gutermuth on Flickr

Navigating the Sea of Tzedakah; Bring a Fishing Pole...

2011-08-25T07:17:00.000-07:00

You know that feeling when you walk into a grocery store, and you just need to buy a box of cereal, a tube of toothpaste, or a bar of soap, and suddenly you're standing in front of a thousand different options? It can be so overwhelming, crippling almost, that you wish you never needed the product in the first place! Sometimes I feel that way about tzedakah, about giving to charity. I receive so many different letters, so many diverse solicitations, that I almost prefer to give to none of the above, rather than having to read through all the letters and learn about every organization.

So how do we navigate these challenges in order to achieve a favorable outcome? The answer should never be that we just don't give any tzedakah, so considering that we still want to give, how do we prioritize and focus our efforts? More importantly, and perhaps central to this issue, what does it really mean, to give tzedakah? Understanding the meaning of tzedakah is, I believe, the key to helping us make informed and rewarding decisions about giving to charity.
Let us begin in this week's Torah portion, Re'eh. In Deuteronomy, chapter 15, verses 7-8, we read the following: "If, however, there is a need person among you, one of your kinsmen in any of your settlements in the land that the Lord your God is giving you, do not harden your heart and shut your hand against your needy kinsman. Rather, you must open your hand and lend him sufficient for whatever he needs." These verses teach us a couple of essential truths about tzedakah. First, we cannot harden our hearts, meaning that we should give lovingly. Don't make others feel demeaned or humiliated if they are in need, but instead find ways to preserve their dignity. Furthermore, find causes that you care about, charities that you will want to get involved in, that inspire you and might even offer you opportunities to get personally involved, and that make you feel better about yourself and the people you are helping.

We also learn that we must open our hands and give of ourselves. And in the same verse we also see a surprising revelation. The Torah doesn't tell us to give charity, in the way we traditionally understand it today. It says "lend him," and only "sufficient for whatever he needs," meaning that the goal of tzedakah is to help get other people back on their feet. The medieval philosopher, Rambam, stated this very same notion when he created his eight levels of charitable giving. For Rambam, the highest level is to give someone a job or a loan to help them become self-sufficient, in particular because it gives them a sense of dignity, self-worth, and pride. That is the message of the Torah, echoed by the Rambam, and essential for us today.

I'm sure you've heard this stated many ways, but I always thought it was done best by the 90's band Arrested Development, who sang a song called "Give a Man a Fish," which includes the lyric, "Teach him how to fish and he'll eat forever." (Rebecca and I both feel that music was just better in the 90's...) The question for us all is, which charities allow us to do this? Yes, it's true that we also have to support those organizations that meet immediate needs, that provide toys for needy children, soup kitchens for the homeless, and aid for parts of the country or the world after a natural disaster. These are all crucial causes. But we also have an obligation to look down the road, to think about long-term solutions to enormous problems. And when we are being inundated with solicitations, and there's a risk that we'll just tune out and wind up giving nothing, I think a focused approach with a set of values and priorities guiding our decisions, may help lead the way and direct our giving.

Most of us don't feel we have the time to teach someone how to fish, whether with a fishing rod and a slimy worm or in the metaphoric sense. Getting personally, emotionally, financially, or physically involved in a cause is time consuming and challenging. But maybe, with the High Holidays and the start of a new year around the corner, it's something worth considering. And if that won't work for you, at least consider what it means to "open your hands" and avoid "hardening your heart." How might your tzedakah look different if these became your guiding principles? Fish... I mean, food, for thought...

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of rynosoft on Flickr

2. CC image courtesy of Lars P. on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of rumpleteaser on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of Egan Snow on Flickr

5. CC image courtesy of Minarae on Flickr

6. Image courtesy of Pat Crowe Photography

Can't Buy (or Force) Me Love

2011-08-18T10:22:00.000-07:00

When I read the Torah, I like to look for the meaning behind the words. I hope you've figured this out about me by now. This is especially true for the Torah, but I also find that it affects other areas of my life as well. Sometimes words themselves do not convey the underlying meaning, they do not tell the whole story. The first time the Bible exhorts the Israelites to stay away from Moabite women, for example, you might tell yourself that Israelites avoided Moabite women. But when the Bible repeats it time and again, and several prophets echo the same sentiment, you start to realize (I hope...) that it was a real problem, and that the Moabites were tough to resist. Clever storyteller, that Bible...

This week's Torah portion has once again led me down the path of peeking behind the words in search of hidden meaning. In Deuteronomy, 7:17-18, we read: "Should you say to yourselves, 'These nations are more numerous than we; how can we dispossess them?' You need have no fear of them. You have but to bear in mind what the Lord your God did to Pharaoh and all the Egyptians." Ok, I got it. No need to worry, Israelites. No reason to fret. Just remember the plagues and the splitting of the sea and you'll remember that God is on your side. Obviously, the Israelites were no longer concerned about conquering the land, because their fears were all assuaged. Right?

Wrong. Once again we see that God needs to keep reminding the Israelites to maintain faith. Why? Because they had none. The Israelites were having a really tough time relying on God, and trusting that God would take care of them.

So our follow-up question might then be, why not? Why are the Israelites so unable to trust God? What is missing from this relationship? The answer, I believe, is in the text itself. In last week's Torah portion, Vaetchanan, we learned the famous verse from the beginning of the Shema, "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might" (Deut. 6:5). Juxtapose that with a verse in this week's reading: "If, then, you obey the commandments that I enjoin upon you this day, loving the Lord your God and serving God with all your heart and soul..." (Deut. 11:13) The first verse, from last week, was a command, "You MUST love God." This week the language has changed, it's conditional, "IF." Perhaps in between the two statements, a lesson was learned: You can't force love.

We don't like to admit this, but the Israelites never agreed to join God in the wilderness. Sure, they groaned under slavery and called out for help. Yet they never willingly set off for the Promised Land, and they certainly didn't bargain for the 10 Commandments, or the Torah filled with 613 laws to govern every aspect of their lives! The reason why they keep complaining in the desert, rebelling against Moses, and trying to turn back to Egypt is because they don't want to go. The Torah has to keep trying to mandate observance and participation because it doesn't come naturally to the Israelites. So where does that leave us? How do we make sense of these commandments, and our own relationship to God, when we view the Israelites from this new perspective?

Ordinarily I'd take on these questions, and try to leave you with a (potentially) satisfactory answer. But I'm not going to do that. We're only about six weeks away from the start of the High Holidays, and it's time to begin introspecting. What does this all mean to me? How am I going to
allow my relationship to Judaism to grow and evolve? Sometimes we need a little tension and dis-ease to force us to think about these questions a little more. It's very possible that when the Israelites set out on their journey, they did not love God; what does that mean for me on my journey? Let's begin to explore this together, as we continue on the path towards the High Holidays and the New Year that lies ahead.

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of zeevveez on Flickr

2. CC image courtesy of hfb on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of genvessel on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of elirook on Flickr

5. CC image courtesy of @jbtaylor on Flickr

6. CC image courtesy of walkinguphills on Flickr

A Frequent Visitor to Jerusalem... Who Isn't Always Sure Why

2011-08-10T12:05:00.000-07:00

One of the great things about returning to Israel again and again, specifically to Jerusalem, is how so many different places hold meaning from various periods in my life. This past week during our synagogue trip to Israel, we drove past the neighborhood of Abu Tor, where my family resided for a year when I was 8; we took a Shabbat walking tour through Katamon where Rebecca and I lived in 2006-7; we ate at restaurants along Emek Refaim Street, where my brother and I studied in the summer of 1999; and we prayed at the Kotel, the Western Wall, where I have many emotional memories from several different trips. And these are just a few of the wonderful nostalgic moments that came flooding back as I wandered through the streets of Jerusalem.

But as with most things in life - and certainly in Israel - it's much more complicated and nuanced than that. I also passed restaurants where piguim, terrorist attacks, had taken place; I remembered all the cab drivers, grocers, government employees, store owners, and landlords (to name but a few...) that I had to fight with over the years; and I was sadly reminded of too many unpleasant encounters with ultra-Orthodox Jews, where I felt judged, condescended, or otherwise discriminated against.

Even just over the course of the past seven, fleeting days of our trip, we've had so many "Israeli" experiences. Some of them filled with holiness, spirituality, breathtaking beauty, and rich, ancient history; while others, equally typical, were marred by intrusive religious extremists, rude and obnoxious locals, or other challenges of Israeli society and culture. Israel seems all at once to be impressively modern, yet surprisingly antiquated. It's unimaginably gorgeous, both the nature and the man-made structures, yet simultaneously dirty, poorly maintained, and covered in dust. It's sacred, mystical, and ancient, yet noisy, frustrating, and pushy. How do we reconcile these statements that all somehow manage to be true of Israel and Jerusalem at the same time?

On a personal note, I surprised myself with how excited I was to be back in Jerusalem. I felt a thrill as the bus climbed the mountains and entered the city, I clapped unintentionally when we first walked the streets, and my excitement was almost tangible as we prayed together as a group in the Old City. I can't figure it out. But I also know I can't deny any of these conflicting aspects of Israeli life. Israel can't be explained or passed along to anyone else; you have to experience it for yourself. And when you do, you have to weigh the pros and cons and decide for yourself whether you come out loving it or hating it.

For some, the pros so outweigh the cons that the person cannot help but make aliyah. I promise you now, that will never be the case for me. Yet somehow, even when I think I've had all I can take of Yerushalayim Shel Zahav, the pros keep winning narrowly enough to keep me coming back. For now, I will admit to you that I'm glad our trip has moved on to other parts of the country... and I eagerly look forward to the next time I'll be back.

Follow us on our Ohev Shalom Israel Trip on our synagogue website: www.ohev.net/israeltrip

Look How Far We've Come!

2011-07-28T06:19:00.000-07:00

This week's Torah portion is the final section of the 4th Book of the Torah, and next week we begin the 5th, and final book. You might have thought that if the Five Books of Moses together tell us the story of the Exodus from Egypt to Israel, that we would naturally be 4/5 of the way there, with only 1/5 of the journey left until we reach the finish line. Well, you'd be wrong. The Israelites actually reach the end of their marching THIS weekend, and the 5th book is basically just Moses enjoying the sound of his own voice (no offense, Moses).

And as the Israelites prepare to enter the Promised Land, our reading this week looks back at their entire journey, and basically lists (in regrettably monotonous fashion...) all the places they've stopped. So what do we make of this travel log, this trip down memory lane shared between the Israelites, God, and the reader? Well, for one thing, it reminds us how quickly time flies.

Is it just me, or does it already feel like the summer's nearly over? How did that happen so quickly? How am I already preparing for the High Holidays, and we're all starting to talk about baseball playoffs? Because life does this to us. We blink too quickly, and suddenly seasons have passed, new neighborhoods have been built,

and children stare at us blankly when we make pop-culture references from our childhood. And apparently, the same predicament befell the Israelites. Right now they have stopped at the border to Canaan and are marveling at how far they've come, how many places they've lived in, and how distant slavery and Egypt have rapidly become. "Ah, it seems like only yesterday I tasted my first bite of manna... and now I swear I'll never look at the stuff again, the moment I set foot in Jerusalem and find a good shawarma place!"

In all seriousness, it is nice to see that even the ancient Israelites felt that time moved quickly, and that it was important to stop and take stock every once in a while. I have always loved the John Lennon quote, "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans." We do often get distracted by day-to-day minutia, and forget to look up and appreciate the world as it whizzes by us. But you know what? Summer isn't over just yet. Right now seems like a very good time to stop lamenting, enjoy the moment, and reflect on how far we've come in life. And for those of us heading off to Israel, it's also high time to find that really good shawarma place!

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of ex_magician on Flickr

2. CC image courtesy of adria.richards onFlickr

3. CC image courtesy of A l'origine on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of Jeff Attaway on Flickr

Both Within and Without Israel

2011-07-21T14:13:00.000-07:00

In less than two weeks, I'll be flying off to Israel on a synagogue trip along with 29 members of our congregation. It's been four years since my last trip, and I'm very exciting to be going back. It truly is like no other place on earth; the food, culture, people, scenery, history - all of it is so unique to Israel, and you have to experience it for yourself to understand. I'm especially thrilled to be going with people who have never been before, and to vicariously see Israel for the first time through their eyes. It's going to be a wonderful trip, and I hope that this will only be the first of many Israel adventures together with members of Ohev Shalom.

But I will never be making aliyah. It might surprise you to hear me say that, because Jews often like to keep that door open. We may never seriously consider moving there, but we don't want to rule it out. You never know, right? Well, I've spent two full years in Israel, I've visited many times, and I have lots of family and friends there, and I can tell you

for certain that I am a solid Diaspora Jew. It has always amazed me how many people feel uncomfortable sharing my sentiment, at least publicly. What's wrong with knowing that I will never be an Israeli? For a healthy Israel to survive, there will always need to be a Diaspora community, just as the Diaspora has always needed, longed for, prayed for, and loved Israel. It is (ideally) a symbiotic relationship, and rather than working towards moving all Jews to Israel, we should be investing resources in improving relationship and understanding between these two essential components of the Jewish world.

This is not a new issue. The Diaspora itself isn't new, and neither are the tensions between Jews inside the Land and outside. In this week's reading, we are told that two tribes, Reuben and Gad (and half the tribe of Menashe), approached Moses to ask if they could stay outside Israel, and settle across the Jordan. Moses initially rejected their request, but then he acquiesced, provided they help their fellow countrymen conquer the land. They agreed, and the first Diaspora Jewish community was established. Ever since the beginning of our existence as a people, as a nation, we have had Jews living both within and without Israel... and the tensions between the two have existed just as long.

So what can we do? I doubt we can "solve" this 4,000-year old problem, but we can work on ourselves. Take pride in who you are, and where you live. You don't have to make excuses to anyone, and both communities are vital to the survival of the Jewish People. However, we also need to learn about one another. As Jews, we have a responsibility to know Israel, to spend time

there, to try to learn Hebrew, and to understand this amazing place where our story began. Your feet have to sink into the sand on an

Israeli beach, your forehead has to touch the stones of the Western Wall, and every one of your senses has to experience an Israeli shuk. Nothing you can ever learn or watch or eat in America will ever compare to actually being there.

It may surprise you that you'll not only learn to love Israel, you'll feel greater pride in your own community, and most importantly, it'll strengthen the bond between the two. No matter what anyone says, it is your land. Even if, like me, you are "just" a Reubenite...

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of ChrisYunker on Flickr

2. CC image courtesy of The Jewish Agency for Israel on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of Andries3 on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of JMRosenfeld on Flickr

5. CC image courtesy of Marion Doss on Flickr

In Search of a Happy Childhood

2011-07-15T07:58:00.001-07:00

This week, the theme word for my blog post is "youth." I attribute this theme to two recent trips; one last week, when I spent time with my wonderful nieces in Sweden, and one earlier this week, when I visited synagogue kids at Camp Ramah. Summer is truly the season of youth, and as I turned to this week's Torah portion, I was quite surprised to discover that this is also the parasha of youth. Let me show you what I mean.

Usually when people read the Torah portion Pinchas, they focus on the man himself, Pinchas, who impetuously kills a fellow Israelite flagrantly violating a commandment in front of the community. Readers may also focus on the daughters of Zelophechad (say that five times fast...), who appeal to Moses for equal inheritance rights after the premature death of their father. But I guess I never stopped and took a step back, realizing that throughout the parasha we keep coming back to one example after another of youth taking leadership roles; sometimes successfully... and sometimes tragically unsuccessfully. Here are the main instances:

- We begin with Pinchas, the grandson of Aaron, who acts with great passion, and is rewarded by God, but who truly represents youthful overzealousness, a shoot-first-ask-questions-later mentality.

- Our parasha also gives an account of all males 20 years and older, and informs us that all of them will perish in the wilderness... to make room for younger blood and new leaders.

- We learn of the daughters of Zelophechad, young women who show that the next generation

will not only consist of strong men, but also powerful women who can take initiative, hold their own, and fight for what they believe in.

- We are reminded of Nadav and Avihu, two of Aaron's sons who offered "strange fire" to God and were killed for their transgression. This serves as another example of young people trying too hard and sometimes paying the price.

- This Torah portion also includes the selection of Joshua to take over after the death of Moses; a final reminder of the changing of the guards, and the new generation that will lead Israel into the Promised Land.

I think that you may now agree that this week's reading truly focuses on youth, and the issue of young communal leaders. But we are given both positive and negative examples, reminding us that young people don't always have all the answers (though you'll never hear them admit as much...). Life is about balance; maturity and wisdom paired with fresh perspective and youthful vigor. And most importantly, we should all strive to achieve that balance in ourselves. Wherever you are in life, it is always healthy to afford some time to be playful and even silly, while also knowing when to employ patience and perspective. Most of us fall on one side of the spectrum OR the other, but struggle to incorporate both, and thus never achieve an ideal balance.

A good friend recently quipped: "I may be growing older... but I don't plan on growing up!"

Or to put it another way, "It's never too late to have a happy childhood!" Have a great week, and please make the most of this wonderful summer weather!

Photos in this blog post:

1. Image courtesy of Louis Stesis. Campers at Ramah Poconos, 2011.

2. CC image courtesy of Wesley Fryer on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of Amir Farshad Ebrahimi on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of Fidenaut on Flickr

5. CC image courtesy of Luciano Meirelles on Flickr

Svenskt Perspektiv på Samtal

2011-07-08T06:54:00.000-07:00

Well folks, I made it here to Sweden, as you can see from the pictures in this week's post. And to answer the question you are all wondering, no, I will not be writing this blog post in Swedish... I thought about it briefly, but the number of readers who would understand anything is minimal, so the gimmick would wear thin pretty quickly. But having spent a few days now back in bilingual-mode, constantly switching between Swedish and English, I will admit that the subject of language has really been on my mind.

Language and communication feature heavily in this week's Torah portion as well, so I couldn't help but focus on it in my blog. In our parasha, Bilaam, a powerful non-Jewish prophet, is summoned by King Balak to curse the Israelites. Bilaam, however, tries to tell Balak that he can only say whatever God wants him to say; he can't decide to curse Israel against God's will. Balak doesn't get it, the two of them continue to talk past one another, and throughout the Torah portion misunderstandings abound. At one point we even witness a talking donkey speaking to Bilaam; seeing and understanding things that Bilaam himself can't (or won't) perceive. Language sometimes highlights for us all the things we don't understand, even more than the things we do.

While I'm here in Sweden, I will also be visiting my new niece, Tamarah, with whom I will probably have great difficulty communicating, given that she is ten days old. And my sister-in-law's family is from Italy, so once again language is usually a bit of a barrier. Yet we are all family, and somehow when we get together it truly feels like family. Speaking is only one way to relate to people, and when it is taken away, you find others. This is even the message of our Torah portion. Last week, we read about the rebellious Israelites, and how God was angry with them. Communication between the two sides might even have ceased for a time. But this week, in a story all about lack of understanding and absence of speech, the main message is that God still loves and protects the people.

Life is about relationships, and speech is only one way to build - or destroy - those relationships. You may not be bilingual, and you may not have a family spread across several continents or speaking multiple languages, but barriers, obstacles, challenges, and miscommunication are all still major risks and common pitfalls. Sometimes we feel like Bilaam, trying to get through to a stubborn King Balak. Sometimes we're Balak, trying to get our way, and foiled at every turn. And yes, sometimes we're also the donkey.

How It Feels to be Homeless in the Desert

2011-06-29T15:31:00.000-07:00

This week I will be flying home to visit my family in Sweden. Even as I wrote that last sentence, I paused before typing the word "home." I haven't lived in Sweden in 12 years, and there's a good chance I won't be moving back there ever again, yet somehow it still feels natural

to write that I'm traveling "home" when I visit there. The only family member still living in Stockholm is my father, and no Gerbers have resided in my childhood apartment on Karlavagen 101 for years, so it really is hard to put a finger on why it still feels like home. Perhaps that is why so many songs have been written about that word, because "home" is often something intangible, subjective, fluid, and emotional. And this week, home is very much on my mind.

Let's begin in this week's Torah portion... surprising, I know. Inour parashah, we read about the devastating incident that led to Moses being barred from the promised land. The people were thirsting for water, and when God instructed Moses to speak to a

rock, he instead struck it with his staff, and out poured cool, refreshing water. To which God declared, "Because you did not trust Me enough to affirm My sanctity in the sight of the Israelite people, therefore you shall not lead this congregation into the land that I have given them" (Numbers 20:12). There are a lot of issues we could focus on in this story, but for now, I would like to talk about the granting, and denying, of access to home.

For Moses, home was a place he had never been, but to which he longed with all his heart. It was the one place that represented security, independence, empowerment, belonging, and acceptance. Most of us cannot even imagine how Moses felt; what it meant to him to remain in the wilderness, in limbo, languishing without a home. But for many people living in the US today, Moses' story is all too familiar.

Last week there was an amazing article in the New York Times Magazine, written by Pulitzer Prize winning author, Jose Antonio Vargas, where he revealed that he himself was an undocumented immigrant in the US. He had never before shared this information publicly. Vargas has also created a website, Define American, which challenges us to think about immigration,

belonging... and home. In his New York Times article, Vargas writes, "I grew up here. This is my home. Yet even though I think of myself as an American and consider America my country, my country doesn't think of me as one of its own." He also talks about fellow illegal immigrants as "members of the 21st Century Underground Railroad," referencing the fight against slavery. I very much agree with him, but I also think of these individuals as members of the 21st Century Exodus, people who started a journey towards a home, but - like Moses - are not allowed to finish it.

Sometimes Sweden still feels like home. But I am also constantly aware of, and tremendously grateful for, my American citizenship. I love where I live. I love my community, and I love feeling a part of it, and feeling like I belong. How can I deny someone else that same right? How can I force other people to remain in limbo, to feel the heartbreak of Moses who was barred from his home... or Jose Antonio Vargas, who feels like his home does not accept him? Please click on the links above. Read the articles, ask yourselves the questions that Vargas poses, and think about what home means to you, and what it should mean to everyone. This week, leading into the 4th of July, I am reading the text of our Torah from a very different perspective, and I encourage you to do the same.

Photos in this blog post:

1. Image courtesy of Rabbi Gerber. Siblings in Stockholm, 2000.

2. CC image courtesy of Rich Man on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of Steve Snodgrass on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of ilovememphis on Flickr

5. CC image courtesy of katerha on Flickr

The Challenge of Feedback Continues

2011-06-23T10:10:00.000-07:00

One of the hardest gifts to receive is critique. We talked about this a few weeks ago, when I wrote that Tochecha, rebuke, is a present that we give one another, that can help us learn, grow, and improve. But unfortunately, it's never as easy as that. Feedback gets taken the wrong way, someone feels offended, and relationships end in the blink of an eye. And so rather than dealing with the perilous realm of critique, we keep our mouths shut.

That was my blog post from a few weeks ago. This week, I would like to explore the other side of the same issue; the person refusing to accept the feedback. What if we're not the person trying to make a "friendly" observation; what if we're the one being observed? We need to ask ourselves: Am I willing to be open to comments, even if they're painful and might require serious introspection and maybe even change? In our current Torah portion, we see that even Moses - one of our greatest leaders - struggles with this very question.

At the start of the parasha, we are told that a relative of Moses, Korach, "betook himself... to rise up against Moses"(Num. 16:1-2). Together with his band of rebels, Korach declares, "You have gone too far! For all the community are holy, all of them, and the Lord is in their midst. Why then do you raise yourselves above the Lord's congregation?" (16:3) The attack is directed squarely at Moses, and his role as the leader of the Israelites. Yet in Moses' response to the attack, he amazingly redirects the criticism, stating: "Truly it is against the Lord that you and all your company have banded together. For who is Aaron that you should rail against him?" (16:11) Aaron? Why does Moses claim the attack is against Aaron? Or against God? Could it really be that Moses thinks Korach is angry at both God and Aaron, yet not angry at him??? I am amazed at how Moses deflects the issue and paints himself as a mediator on the sideline.

But don't we ourselves act the same way? When someone tries to criticize us, we too find reasons why it isn't really applicable. The person was rude or crazy; the comment was unwarranted or unfair; we tell ourselves that other people do the same thing, so why was I being singled out for criticism??? We'll jump through endless hoops to avoid having to confront the possibility that we aren't perfect. How differently might this Biblical feud have ended if Moses had sat down with Korach and tried to understand his issues? Feedback, critique, even criticism; they all open the door for new opportunities. They give us a chance to grow and become better people.

The rabbis of the Talmud ask and answer an important question: "Who is wise? One who learns from all people" (Pirkei Avot, 4:1). Note that it says, "from all people." It's easy to learn from teachers, scholars, even an occasional rabbi. It's harder to learn from someone who is offering rebuke; though perhaps there is all the more to learn from that person. If/when you are feeling attacked, try to take a step back and not lash out right away. And don't deflect their observations. Be curious about your own emotions, allow yourself time to reflect on what they are saying, and try to seize the precious opportunity to learn something. You may be surprised at what you discover, and you may even wind up thanking them... well, maybe eventually.

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of erika g. on Flickr

2. CC image courtesy of paradiseranche on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of barry.pousman on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of Kissimmee - The Heart of Florida on Flickr

5. CC image courtesy of Lazurite on Flickr

Getting It Right The First Time

2011-06-13T11:57:00.000-07:00

Sometimes in life, we don't get second chances. It may surprise you that I am saying this, because so often in Judaism we talk about repentance, forgiveness, and change. Indeed, our High Holidays are all about second chances, where we espouse the notion that God is always ready to receive us; always willing to take us back, to forgive our offenses, and wipe the slate clean. And all that sounds really, really great... but sometimes life just doesn't work that way. Even though it's hard to accept, an important lesson we must learn is to make the most of the time we have on this earth, to appreciate those around us, and not waste our lives... because sometimes, you just can't get it back.

This week's Torah portion is an ominous one, where 12 spies scout out the Promised Land in preparation for its conquest. But ten of the spies bring back a report that it's unconquerable, and only two, Joshua and Caleb, say that God's mission can be accomplished successfully. The people, of course, side with the pessimists and attempt to rebel against Moses and God; wanting instead to turn

back to Egypt. Naturally, God is furious with their lack of faith, and if Moses hadn't calmed God down, all of the Israelites might have been wiped out on the spot. However, it is at

that moment that God declares that we will wander the desert for 40 years before making a second attempt to conquer Canaan. All the members of the older generation must first die out before the new and improved Israelites - Version 2.0 - are allowed to leave the desert and enter the Holy Land.

Now this part rarely gets talked about: After the Israelites hear God's proclamation, they quickly change their minds and get ready to march into Canaan. But the moment has passed! God is no longer on their side, and even though they have (seemingly)

regained their courage, the opportunity came and went, and there is no way they can change their fate. As the foolish Israelites prepare to attack, Moses chides them, "Why do you transgress the Lord's command? This will not succeed. Do not go up, lest you be routed by your enemies, for the Lord is not in your midst" (Numbers, 14:41-42). There is no going back. The Israelites realize they were wrong, they acknowledge that they sided with the wrong spies, and they see that if they only had faith in God, the mission would be successful, no matter how powerful the opposition. But it's too late. They rush up to attack their enemies... and they are defeated.

In Judaism, we like to talk about repentance. Often in life we can change our ways, and we can

improve the way we live. But we also cannot use repentance as an excuse for making poor choices right now. Time and again the rabbis remind us that Yom Kippur is not an invitation to live a life of sin, dishonesty, and dishonor for an entire year, only to have everything washed away and nullified just because we dress in white and fast for a day. Yes, God accepts our penitence, but we are also strongly encouraged to get it right the first time so we don't have to repent!

Don't rely too heavily on the High Holidays. Life is lived every, single day, and we are held accountable - to ourselves, to our family, friends (even those on Facebook...), our community, and certainly to God - for everything that we do. Yom Kippur reminds us of the path we should be walking, and how to get back there if we've gone astray. But why not look for that path today, and start figuring out how to stay on it and avoid future temptations to get lost? You may not get a second chance, so why wait till you need one?

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of Alyssa L. Miller on Flickr

2. CC image courtesy of Robbo-Man on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of The National Guard on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of MinivanNinja on Flickr

5. CC image courtesy of Todd Barnard on Flickr

When Divine Spirits Won't Help You Decide

2011-06-09T12:05:00.000-07:00

This week I am writing my 100th blog post. It's hard to believe that I've already written 100 of these things; it doesn't seem so long ago that I sat down to write post number one. Thank you, everyone, for reading my blog. Your comments and feedback have been invaluable, and I truly consider Take on Torah to be a collaborative project. And I can promise you this, as long as you keep reading and commenting, I'll keep writing. Thanks for all your support! ...And now, on to this week's post!

Leadership is tough. It may seem like a lot of fun, but once you take on that mantle, it ain't easy! Public scrutiny, little praise yet LOTS of blame, and a good number of people who think they could do your job better than you can. Thankfully, I'm not speaking from personal experience, but rather from this week's Torah portion, which shows us some of Moses' greatest challenges during the Exodus. As usual, the people are complaining. This time the manna isn't enough for them, they want meat! In addition to all the kvetching, Moses loses one of his favorite advisers, his father-in-law, God scolds him, and worst of all, he faces a coup from his own siblings! The job is getting the best of him, and he is forced to ask God for help.

God acquiesces to Moses' request, and instructs him to pick 70 elders who will be imbued with the Divine spirit, and who will share the burden of leadership. What follows is a fascinating scene where two elders seem to be receiving this Calling in an unsanctioned manner, and Moses' advisers fear it will undermine Moses' authority. They beg him to stop these "rogue" elders, but Moses surprises them by declaring, "Are you jealous for my sake? I wish that all the Lord's people were prophets and that the Lord would put His Spirit on them!" Moses isn't looking for more control, he's looking for less, and he would happily give it all away in a heartbeat!

Now, I feel kind of bad criticizing Moses - after all, the guy has had a rough couple of years. But the notion of every Israelite being a prophet, being a leader, is pretty frightening. Whether you like it or not, leadership is necessary. Without it, you're going to end up with anarchy and chaos. Someone needs to make decisions, and yes, someone needs to be accountable and listen to people's kvetching. Moses selfishly hopes to relinquish control, even though clearly God considers him the best person for the job. In our lives, we too must strive to figure out what our greatest potential is, and do everything we can to live up to it. Not everyone is meant to be a leader or a prophet, but we all have limitless potential.

The Talmud teaches us, "In a place where there is no leader, strive to be a leader." We should seek out opportunities to be at our best, chances to make the world a better place for the people around us. But what happens in a place where there already is a leader? There is still a role for us to play, and many ways we can help out and do our part. One of the reasons the Israelites struggled so much throughout their time in the desert was because Moses never became comfortable in his role. Sometimes we don't get to choose where life will take us, but we can always affect our own lives, and make the most of every situation. Don't wait for the "Spirit of God" to come down and anoint you a leader. Follow instead those most wonderful words of Mahatma Gandhi: "Be the change you wish to see in the world."

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of My Buffo on Flickr

2. CC image courtesy of Tambako the Jaguar on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of Ian W Scott on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of St_A_Sh on Flickr

5. CC image courtesy of Ben Sutherland on Flickr

Learning to Count... In More Ways Than ONE

2011-05-26T08:14:00.000-07:00

On Wednesday night, Cantor Friedrich and I saw a pretty unbelievable game of baseball at Citizens Bank Park. It started out as a Phillies' fan might expect - the Phillies came out strong and then kind of petered out as the game went on - but it ended up being a 19-inning marathon, that lasted over six hours, and was the longest game ever played in that ballpark! It also included some pretty funny numbers, like a relief pitcher throwing 73 pitches over five innings, a second baseman pitching a scoreless 19th inning, and 16 pitchers used between the two teams. Baseball is always a game of numbers and statistics, but it seemed a lot more evident last night than usual.

And as we begin the fourth Book of the Torah, known in English as The Book of Numbers, I

couldn't help but stop and think about the significance of numbers. Now the Biblical book doesn't get its name from statistics or scores, but rather from a census; the physical numbering of our people as they proceeded on their 40-year march through the desert. But numbers play a very significant part in Judaism, like the Passover song "Who Knows One?" which lists 13 different important figures in Jewish tradition. Or the mystical tradition of Gematria, Jewish numerology, which assigns numbers to each letter in the Hebrew alphabet and comes up with all kinds of calculations throughout the Bible, the Talmud, and indeed all of Jewish history.

Our lives are filled with numbers; you may even have digits which are special to your family, either because of birth dates, lucky lottery numbers, or milestones in your life. Notice also how significant numbers and counting are to our English language: Counting can refer to something being important, "it's gotta count for something," or it can mean dependability, "You can count on me." We learn to count at a young age, which might imply its a simple skill like tying shoelaces or telling time, yet mathematics is one of the most complicated sciences, and it is even referred to as the Universal Language.

Numbers have always played a vital role in Jewish history, since the time of

the Bible and even before. Yet through it all, the most important number has always been 1; our foundation as a monotheistic religion believing in ONE God. In the face of all the other overwhelming numbers in Judaism - from "millions" of Jews leaving slavery in Egypt to millions of Jews killed in the Holocaust - the Oneness of God has kept us grounded. It is a constant in a sea of change, and a comfort through all life's insecurities. Do I have any proof that God exists, and that there is only one? Nope. None whatsoever. It is simply a leap of faith.

In our discussion here of the Book of Numbers, we have come to realize that "counting" is a metaphor for dependability and significance. How much of our lives aren't spent searching for just these two elusive qualities? So much so that some people sacrificed all they had, and suffered great ridicule, because one person said he had "calculated" that the world would end on May 21st, 2011... We all search for something to rely on, and something that holds great meaning. Think about the numbers that are important in your life. What do they say about you, and what meaning can you derive from them? And how can you use that information to make your life better than it is today? Whenever a congregant celebrates a birthday in our synagogue, I read aloud a blessing from the Rabbinical Assembly's Rabbi's Manual which includes the following line: "People may count the days of their life, but a person of wisdom makes every day count."

As we begin to read the Book of Numbers, let us all use this opportunity to figure out what "counts" in our lives; whether its math, faith, or baseball... or maybe a little of each.

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of Burger Baroness on Flickr

2. CC image courtesy of timsamoff on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of woodleywonderworks on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of Rishabh Mishra (possible248) on Flickr

5. CC image courtesy of Lord Jim on Flickr

A Tough Gift To Give

2011-05-19T12:05:00.000-07:00

I just want you to know, I think you're doing a terrible job. You're making HUGE mistakes right now, and if you don't change your behavior, shape up, and stop being so self-destructive, bad things are going to happen to you.

This, of course, is a good example of how NOT to rebuke someone, if you disagree with how they are behaving. I imagine the paragraph above was a bit startling to read; I can tell you it was even a bit jarring to write. But what happens if this is how you feel? What if these are precisely the sentiments you WISH you could share with someone, but you are worried that it might come out as harsh as my introduction? Or worse, you'll find a way to say it sensitively, but the recipient will hear it the wrong way, be horribly offended, and it will ruin your relationship. We all have opinions. Sometimes they are good opinions, and they come with the best of intentions, yet the reality is that most people do not handle rebuke very well.

In the words of the Etz Hayim Torah commentary, this week's reading, "centers on a brief but eloquent promise of blessings for those who follow God's ways and a lengthy and chilling series of curses for those who reject God's ways." It is chilling indeed, with graphic and intricate descriptions of how bad things will get if we don't follow God's commandments. This section is known as the "Tochecha," meaning "Reproach." But reproach isn't just between God and us; Tochecha is also something we offer to one another. When we feel strongly about how someone

else is acting - perhaps hurting themselves or their loved ones, perhaps making bad choices that they will sorely regret later on - we can offer them Tochecha to encourage them to rethink their behavior. God may choose, in these instances, to use Fire and Brimstone to get the message across, but we generally need something more subtle, like love, support, sympathy, and understanding.

A very good friend and mentor of mine once described feedback as a gift we give another. It is the gift of insight, to help them see something objectively when they were too wrapped up in it to notice the problem themselves. It is a most precious gift, because it is really, really hard to give it properly. It takes courage on the part of the giver, and openness on the part of the receiver. It requires trust and love on both sides, and it can be emotionally and spiritually exhausting for everyone. In short, it ain't easy! But that is precisely why it is so vitally important. It is a gift we cannot afford to withhold. Generation after generation, God sent prophets to rebuke the people and try to get them to change their ways. It was painful for God to chastise the Children of Israel - God's children - over and over, but it was imperative.

Is there room for Tochecha in your life? Think about this for a minute, because there are lots of

possible answers. Is there someone you need to confront? Is someone trying desperately to confront you, even though you don't really want to hear it? Every year in our Torah reading cycle, we read this and two other similar sections of the Bible that rail at us for disobeying God's laws. It's no picnic, and it isn't fun to have to read. But it's important. It is a gift that God is offering us, and a gift that we can offer one another. We just have to be willing to see it as a gift. Are you?

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of gideon_wright on Flickr

2. CC image courtesy of Ernst Vikne on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of quinet on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of Tony the Misfit on Flickr

5. CC image courtesy of Mykl Roventine on Flickr

Renter's Delight

2011-05-12T08:16:00.000-07:00

A colleague of mine recently posed a question on our rabbis' listserv. He shared with us a conversation he had with a B'nai Mitzvah student, where the child was trying to understand a major concept in this week's Torah portion. The student was upset about a certain verse, and my colleague was curious to hear how we might respond to him. Our parasha is called Behar, and among other things, the reading contains the famous verse, "You shall proclaim liberty throughout the land for all its inhabitants" (Lev. 25:10), which is inscribed on the Liberty Bell. But that is not the passage that was causing the Bar Mitzvah boy great consternation.

Instead, the student was troubled by the requirement to return land to original owners every 50 years. According to the Bible, land was assigned to certain individuals, in certain tribes, and even if a person was forced to sell his/her land (because of poverty, natural disaster, death), it should always be returned back to the original owner during the Jubilee Year, which occurred every 50 years. Land is an eternal

possession. The child was upset, however, because it seemed that a comparable situation in his world would be buying a toy, and being forced to give it back after a certain period of time. How is this a fair system?? And indeed, I can see his point. The purchase was completed, fair and square, and now the new owner is being "punished" for something entirely out of his/her control. What I would say to this child, however, is that we are coming at this issue from the wrong angle. Ownership is honestly a figment of our imagination.

Judaism teaches us that God is truly the owner of everything. We are stewards of this earth, charged with the task of caring for the planet, managing all aspects of life and logistics, and ensuring that it's still here for the next generation to take over. In a sense, we are renting land, just as we are actually renting our clothing, our homes... and even our family members. None of these things are ours for eternity. When we are done with clothing, we have the obligation to clean it, fold it, and pass it along for someone else to use. Eventually we all move out of our homes, and pass them along to new owners. And someday our loved ones will die. We shake our fists at the sky and cry out loud that this is unfair and unacceptable, yet it is ultimately out of our hands.

There are no certainties in life. We spend our lives working hard, raising children, buying property, and then a natural disaster hits - like the flooding that has decimated the lives of our neighbors in Alabama, Mississippi, and Tennessee - and all our hard work is lost. That too is horribly unfair,

and we are left feeling utterly powerless. All we can do is make the most of life while we can; enjoy the possessions we own, the people who brighten our lives, and the land we spend our days cultivating. One day it will be gone. We cannot eliminate the ending, and we cannot change the fact that we are all renters, not owners. But so what? There is so much that we CAN change every, single day of our lives. Don't worry about what will happen in the 50th year; delight in being a renter right now, and enjoy all of the wonderful blessings that enrich your life today.

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of zoonabar on Flickr

2. CC image courtesy of loveloveshine on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of GoTRISI on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of au_tiger01 on Flickr