L'Chaim (newsletter) article, October, 2022: Making Sukkah Memories

Greetings from our synagogue Sukkah! Ok, it isn’t actually built when I’m writing this (in early September). However, if you’re reading this article after October 9th, just picture me sitting on the Ohev Sukkah terrace, enjoying our lovely communal hut, filled with decorations made by our Mispallelim religious school students. It looks fabulous!

Every year, we rebuild this structure for a mere eight days, yet it leaves memories that people still sometimes share with me from years past. Like the legendary phoenix, the Sukkah gets dismantled and disappears when the holiday is done… only to be “reborn” again a year later. Our synagogue Sukkah is really quite wonderful, but its true splendor comes, not from the decorations themselves, but from the love and dedication put into the project by all its contributors. What makes Sukkot such an enchanting holiday is its focus on creating a shared experience. The Sukkah is open for all to enter. Its simplicity radiates warmth and accessibility, and its educational message is not hard to grasp or difficult to make relatable: We are connecting to our ancestors who also dwelt in booths during the Exodus from Egypt, built them again later in the Ancient land of Israel, and have continued to do so throughout Jewish history. Even in this era of increased security and distancing, it’s nice to return to holidays that really feature hospitality and welcoming.

There is something wonderfully tactile and natural about the celebration of Sukkot. It’s the perfect holiday to help us transition away from the themes of Yom Kippur. Where Yom Kippur is solemn, Sukkot is joyous. Yom Kippur focuses on the mind and the internal, personal relationship to God; Sukkot celebrates community and the physical acts of building, dancing, and shaking a lulav. Yom Kippur has us fasting; Sukkot makes us forget hunger pretty quick!

Yet like Yom Kippur (and every other Jewish holiday), Sukkot also affords us a chance to reminisce about experiences of this holiday in different places, with cherished loved ones, in years long since past. I remember huddling around a space heater in a snow-covered Sukkah in Sweden. I recall a young (and slightly eccentric) visiting rabbi in Stockholm, who built a mini-Sukkah on a window ledge six stories above the ground, with no railing… and he slept in that Sukkah for eight nights!! I am reminded of many years spent in the largest Sukkah in North America, at JTS in New York, where pine needles rained down into our food from the schach, the Sukkah cover. The more hard-core among us just considered the pine needles an added garnish in the soup… And I also call to mind walking the streets of Jerusalem as a rabbinical student, seeing rows and rows of rooftop Sukkot, overlooking the Old City and the most breath-taking sunset imaginable. How about you? What do you think of, or remember, when we talk about Sukkot?

I hope you’ll come join a communal celebration in the Ohev Sukkah this year. It’s even a Covid-compatible holiday, because it’s all outdoors! In addition to daily services (not held outside) for the holiday, we have Bible class in the Sukkah, brown bag lunch discussions on October 12, 13, and 14, a Pizza in the Hut dinner, and to top it all off, the celebration of Ben Friedman’s Bar Mitzvah on the 15th. An added bonus is that when you’re sitting outside among bamboo poles, paper chains, and hanging gourds, you can’t help but feel that autumn is in the air. It’s a terrific way to begin the new Jewish year, and to dive right into all the programming taking place at Ohev Shalom. Though I do still miss the Nordic snow and the pine needle garnish…

Chag Sameach – Happy Holidays!

Rabbi Gerber

Ki Teitzei: What the Torah Expects of You

 I want to begin by acknowledging that I've been off the blog for several weeks. In part, it was sort of a summer hiatus, and in part I am trying to decide how and if to continue this blog. I've been writing about the weekly Torah portion for thirteen-plus years now, and it may be time for a new topic and/or format. Your feedback and opinions are welcome, by the way. In the meantime, I will continue writing through the end of Deuteronomy, but will likely stop writing after that, either temporarily or perhaps more permanently. I just wanted you, my readers, to be aware. Thanks for your understanding!

This week, our Torah portion offers a series of laws that have a common theme. I find it interesting that the text doesn't outright *name* the theme (though it does so elsewhere), yet it's hard to miss it when you put all the pieces together. Our synagogue follows the triennial cycle of readings, so our Torah portion this week begins at Deuteronomy, 24:14, and here's how the reading starts off (I'm paraphrasing for brevity):

- Do not abuse a needy or destitute laborer, whether a fellow countryman or a stranger.
- Pay people their wages on the same day (i.e. in the proper time).
- No one should not be put to death for someone else's crimes, even family members.
- Do not subvert the rights of vulnerable people in society.
- Leave some of your field for the poor and the needy.

I imagine you can see the theme as well as I can, right? Take care of those who either can't take care of themselves, or who have a lower status than you in society. You may be in a position to take advantage of them - clearly the ability is there and you won't face immediate consequences - but God will know, and just don't do it. The reason why I wanted to highlight the theme specifically, is because I think sometimes people get bogged down in the details. "Oh, sure," someone might say, "this applies if I own a field, or am meting out capital punishment, or have laborers working on my property... but I don't live in ancient times! None of this applies to me." Which is why I want to divert our attention away from the specific scenarios and instead focus on the overarching principle.

The idea that the Torah is putting forth, is that every person in society has obligations towards that shared community. In America, we hear a lot of people touting individual liberties above everything else, and the concept of certain "inalienable rights." Now, I would never disagree with each person's rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit (though not guarantee...) of happiness. However, the Torah is reminding us that our personal desires and interests are not the only factor at play. We are also part of a network of interconnected parts and people, and sometimes we are required to focus less on ourselves and more on the system as a whole.

As we work our way through the Jewish month of Elul, in which we prepare ourselves daily for the upcoming holidays of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur (blowing shofar in morning minyan and reciting a Psalm for the Season of Repentance), I urge each of us to think about this concept. Don't get too focused on the literal subjects of day laborers, courts punishing people, and what you're supposed to do with your field. What about sharing your income, resources, time, and energy with people less fortunate than you? What about speaking up on behalf of people who are being abused or taken advantage of, either within our country or around the world? Or abused animals, or the very planet itself? These laws in Deuteronomy 24 really do apply to all of us. We are never asked to be perfect or flawless, but we are indeed expected to strive to be better; to aspire to keep making the world (around us as well as globally) a little bit better every day. And that idea never gets old.

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. Publicdomainpictures.net
2. Picryl.com
3. pxhere.com
4. Smart Chicago Collaborative on Wikimedia Commons (it's a quote attributed to Albert Einstein that states, "Strive not to be just a success, but to be of value.")

Sh’lach Lecha: Who Puts the "Ger" in Stranger?

One wonderful and infinitely complex aspect of the Torah text - in general - revolves around the issue of interpretation. It’s so hard to say “the Torah says…” because every time you translate something, you have to choose between synonyms to decide the nuance, tone, and intention of what you think the original text says. This week, we find a critical example of this ambiguity in one pivotal word that affected our ancient ancestors and still (maybe more so) affects us today. It caught my eye, because the Torah restates this commandment in back-to-back verses. Ok, so let’s “ger” right into it, shall we? 

In Numbers, chapter 15, verses 15-16, we read: 

“15: There shall be one law for you and for the resident stranger; it shall be a law for all time throughout the ages. You and the stranger shall be alike before Adonai. 16: the same ritual and the same rule shall apply to you and to the stranger who resides among you.”

Perhaps surprisingly, the ambiguous word in those verses - and indeed throughout the Torah - is “stranger.” The word in Hebrew is “Ger,” and a big question that we need to clarify is, who is the stranger? Is it just someone who is unfamiliar to you personally? Or someone who resides with you temporarily, but not permanently? Is this someone who was not born Jewish but who converted? Or a non-Jewish individual who has no intention of converting, but who nevertheless lives with you? What complicates the matter is that it’s used in all of the above ways throughout the Torah. In Genesis, Abraham refers to himself as a Ger, meaning he’s an outsider with no claims to land and no status among the Hittites where he lives (but he certainly hasn't converted to their religion, nor does he have any plans to). In Exodus, the Jewish People are repeatedly reminded by God that we were “strangers (Gerim) in the land of Egypt.” But again, the Israelites weren't converts TO Egyptian culture, but merely status-less outsiders. Yet when the text later talks about Gerim living among us - like in our parashah - most commentators translate this as “convert” or “proselyte.” And the implications are significant.

Why does this matter? Well, when the Torah commands us to take care of the poor, the orphan, the widow... and "the stranger" in our midst, is it talking only about converts (and thus perhaps only concerned with taking care of fellow Jews), or about all people, including non-Jews? Most classic rabbinic commentaries defer to the convert-translation. One of the most famous of these was Rambam (or Maimonides) who wrote a thousand years ago: "All [occurrences of the term] 'Ger' which are said regarding gifts to the poor are nothing other than a 'Ger Tzedek' (i.e. a convert)." Personally, I am dismayed by this assertion, because I read our texts as absolutely commanding us to be kind and considerate to *all* people, regardless of religion, race, ethnicity, or any other defining characteristic. How unfortunate that, when our texts already have multiple instances of commandments directing us to take care of fellow Jews, and here we have an opportunity to expand the circle and extend God's Love more broadly, so many authorities choose instead to read it as yet another example of taking care of our own.

Even if we were to agree to read Ger as convert, I'm still bothered by it. We so often state that once someone has converted they are Jewish, plain and simple. No second-guessing, no questioning, no exclusions. So why would this text be talking about fellow Jews as "strangers" and "outsiders," just because at one point they converted into the religion?? Today, in our diverse and multicultural world, I firmly believe we need to emphasize inclusion. We can absolutely still acknowledge the differences between being Jewish and not, and I don't mind saying there are certain mitzvot and rituals that are exclusively performed by Jews during a Jewish prayer service. But we cannot, and should not, wall ourselves off from our neighbors all around us, no matter how different from us they may be. Clearly, not all authorities read it this way, but there is no doubt in my mind as to what the Torah (and God) meant here. And the commandment to treat all people the same was not only true in the time of the Torah, but is just as much true today in our modern world. If not more so.

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. Historical Thesaurus on Flickr
2. Nick Youngson on Pix4free
3. Wind-Struski on Wikimedia Commons
4, U.S. National Archives on Picryl

Kedoshim: When The Rule Needs a Little More Love

How you phrase something matters a lot. Changing your wording just a little bit can really shift the meaning and the outcome dramatically, and this week’s Torah portion offers us a pretty famous example of this principle. Parashat Kedoshim features the oft-quoted Golden Rule, which is, of course: _______ … hmmm… well, how would you articulate The Golden Rule? Take a moment and think about exactly how you, in your own mind, might express what you consider to be the Biblical maxim that we refer to as The Golden Rule. I say that, because I read a Torah commentary this week that really emphasized how important phrasing can be, and specifically when it comes to this famous concept. I thought it would be interesting for us to spend a few minutes looking out how different each formulation is, what each means, and how the outcome of which option we choose has direct impact on interpersonal relations in our world today. 

If you Google The Golden Rule, you will find that a version of it exists in almost every culture and religious tradition on earth. And, as I stated above, each group tends to express it slightly differently. A common example of the “negative” phrasing of it is: “That which you hate to be done to you, do not do to another.” And if you reconfigure it to a more positive statement, you might say: “Do unto others as you would have them do to you.” Those two are basically saying the same thing, right? And every other version of this principle is essentially identical as well, and we could call them all doctrines of reciprocity. The thing is, they’re actually not the same. Phrasing matters. I read a Torah commentary this week, written by Shaya Cohen, where he points out: “the negative construction of [The Golden Rule] does not require any engagement – you can fulfill the Golden Rule by simply leaving other people alone.” We see this in many parts of modern society too, right? “Live and let live,” we might hear people say. Or we might look at how siloed our society has become, where everyone does his/her own thing, but it doesn’t really entail any communal engagement or responsibility for one another. Essentially, just don’t get in each other’s way, and everyone will be fine. But will they?

Even the positive formulation might potentially lead you to a similar conclusion. Cohen observes: “it suggests a quid pro quo, doing to others as you want them to do to you. If you want to be left alone, then you can fulfill this rule merely by leaving others alone as well!” It’s articulated in a more proactive form, but ultimately this well-known version of The Rule still allows everyone to go to their own corner, wall themselves off from others, and just make sure to treat people with the same respect you’d want to receive from them. But yet again, no engagement or commitment is required. So then we get to the Jewish iteration of The Golden Rule, and the one found in this week’s reading: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” How is this any different than the others? Cohen posits: “love is an ongoing investment, not a mere thing or product.” Our Torah is challenging us to take this one (or maybe several…) step(s) further. Is it enough to just have a non-aggression treaty? To just mind our own business and let others do the same? I really don’t think it is. 

If we examine any of the major issues swirling around us in the world right now, the earlier two formulations of The Golden Rule just aren’t enough. Whether we’re talking about battling Covid, supporting people in Ukraine fighting to fend off Russian aggression, or even the ongoing debate about the Supreme Court ending Roe v. Wade and our country’s protections for abortions; in each of these instances, I contend that more is needed than just a “live and let live” mentality. We need the interactive and ongoing relationship that Cohen suggests comes with the word "love." In particular, think about what you would want or need to thrive in the world. It isn't enough for others to just get out of our way, because there are many, many challenges that we all face, and we need one another to really overcome obstacles and be successful. So it is essential that we consider how much phrasing matters, both in terms of how we express The Golden Rule, and then how we choose to implement it in our lives. Nearly every culture in the world has articulated this principle in one form or another, which tells us that it is really important... *and* that we all need to be reminded of it pretty frequently! It's been a vital teaching for several millennia, and continues to be an essential concept for us to learn, internalize, and put into practice. If and when we can do that, then it won't just be a rule to follow, but a shining, golden example of how to treat one another throughout the world.

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:

1. GDJ on openclipart.org

2. Fractal Angel on Wikimedia Commons

Acharei Mot: The Letter and the Spirit Square Off

When you think about the performance of mitzvot, which would you say is more important, the action or the intention? Let’s imagine, say, that we’re back at the Passover Seder from a couple of weeks ago. Would it be “better” to do all the rituals, sing all the songs, and read every page of the Haggadah, even if your heart isn’t in it and you’re distracted? Or better to go into the holiday with excitement, enthusiasm, and interest… but recite half the prayers, sing two abridged songs, and read none of the extraneous material? At first glance, you might think the answer is obvious. And two different people reading this blog post might each think the answer is self-evident… while holding opposite opinions! I don’t know if there is a “correct” answer here, or even a practice or approach that is better or worse. But the ancient rabbis get into an interesting debate about each of these perspectives, and I thought perhaps it might be worth our while to examine their opinions for a bit.

Their first statement might surprise you. Mira Balberg, in her book “Blood for Thought: The Reinvention of Sacrifice in Early Rabbinic Literature,” explains that the rabbis of the Talmud understood the institution of sacrifice not so much as creating lines of communication to God, but rather about meticulous and flawless performance of Divine commands. In other words, they firmly believed in the first part of my statement above: Whether it’s about sacrifice, keeping Kosher, or celebrating Pesach, the most important thing is to GET. IT. RIGHT! Rabbi Ilana Kurshan wrote a Torah commentary this week in which she wrote, “The rabbinic discussion of the high priest’s activities on Yom Kippur is focused on the precision and accuracy with which each step must be taken.” Based on this, it’s pretty clear how the Talmudic rabbis  would have ruled on this question. Intention is all well and good, but really it’s about performing mitzvot correctly and fully. However, this isn’t the only thing the rabbis say on the subject. There are other sources to look at as well. Furthermore, it gives me pause to hear how the rabbis discussed Temple sacrifice and its rituals. They didn’t live in the era of the Temple. In fact, they were descendants of the Pharisees, who were quite anti-Temple, and who felt the whole institution had turned corrupt and was not fulfilling the Will of God. So when they talk about how meticulous the High Priest was, and how perfectly every single detail had to be performed, are they advocating that behavior… or subtly critiquing it?

There are countless stories of people unable to recite the correct prayers, but directing their hearts to God, and their petitions being accepted. We read the prophet Isaiah - in a text that was chosen by some of those same ancient rabbis to be the Haftarah specifically for Yom Kippur - instructing his listeners that God does *not* want the ritual sacrifices. God, through Isaiah, insists rather that we must “share your bread with the hungry, take the wretched poor into your home. When you see the naked, clothe them, and do not ignore your own kin.” (Isaiah, 58:7) Doesn’t this sound like the opposite approach? Informing us that our practices and observances could be 110% perfect, yet simultaneously meaningless if they don’t have the proper intentions of kindness and compassion. So which one is it, the letter of the law or the spirit of the law? It is so difficult to choose…

And indeed I don’t think we’re actually supposed to choose at all. Like many things in life, we are constantly striving and changing, and mainly seeking to achieve balance and harmony. The same applies here. We can indeed aspire to do things as correctly as possible, acknowledging that the letter of the law has merit and purpose. Yet the spirit can be equally as impactful and significant, and shouldn’t be disregarded. At times, we might even strive to achieve them both together; the precise instructions of the Torah as well as the wholehearted intention described by Isaiah. But humans are not perfect. We aspire, not with the expectation that we will eventually get everything right, but merely in order to keep improving and growing. And I fear that when we imagine leaders like the ancient High Priest in this week’s parashah performing everything perfectly, and we tell ourselves we should be emulating that, we are setting ourselves up for failure. So maybe it’s ok that we can’t do all things well at the same time. That shouldn’t be our goal. Instead, we can appreciate the values of strict adherence *and* heartfelt intention, knowing it’s rare that we can achieve both together. So to answer our question at the start of this blog post, the best option isn’t one extreme or the other; it’s the balance and harmony we strive to achieve inside of ourselves.

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. Magnes Database Record on Flickr
2. FotoGuy 49057 on Flickr
3. Rawpixel
4. Peggy_Marco on Pixabay

L’Chaim (newsletter) article, December 2021 - A New Jewish Connection in Mbale, Uganda

I like projects. You may have figured that out about me already, considering some of the endeavors we’ve embarked upon here at Ohev Shalom over the course of the last twelve-and-a-half years! I want to also state (for the record…) that I *do* love ritual and routine, and I think each of these concepts has its time and place. Annual traditions, holiday celebrations, and community customs and events are vital for creating togetherness, and for fostering a sense of belonging and familiarity. However, if we don’t also challenge ourselves to take on new ventures and invite unfamiliar perspectives, our beloved routines and rituals can easily become stale and hollow.
 
One way that I think we create newness and push ourselves to constantly evolve and change is through original (and hopefully somewhat innovative…) projects. As we round the corner into the last month of 2021, and begin to look ahead into 2022, I thought this would be an excellent time to explore something novel. Here is an idea that I am already mulling myself, and which I’d like to put forth to the congregation, to see if there is interest in taking on something new and different:
 
I recently began an unusual correspondence through Facebook. A man named Jonathan Mwosuko reached out to me about purchasing Jewish ritual objects from his group, called the Uganda Jewish Arts Special. Mr. Mwosuko comes from a small Jewish community, called the Nasenyi, located in the very small town of Mbale, located five hours by bus from the capital city of Kampala, Uganda. Over the course of the last few months, I have been learning more about the Nasenyi, and have been hearing about the extreme hardships and poverty they experience on a daily basis. I purchased several items from the Uganda Jewish Arts Special, in part to see what they produce and in part to confirm their story. They make beautiful hand-stitched and brightly colored kippot, as well as challah covers, tallit bags, baskets, and more! 
 
The items I ordered have arrived, but this does not (I hope) conclude my dealings with them. I want us to explore how we can partner with, and support, the Jews of Mbale. This is a Jewish community, one that has been there for a very long time, and we have an obligation to assist them in any way that we can. Mr. Mwosuko has already shared that they need clothing for their children, toiletries, mattresses and sheets, tallitot for their synagogue (the ones they currently have are tattered and often don’t have tzitzit attached!), and more. We may feel discouraged in our limited ability to change their circumstances, but we nevertheless must try.
In Pirkei Avot, a 2,000-year-old book of rabbinic wisdom, the ancient sage, Rabbi Tarfon, states: “It is not your duty to finish the work, but neither are you free to desist from it” (2:16). I have no idea how much we’ll be able to impact Jonathan Mwosuko and the Nasenyi Jewish community of Mbale. I hope to engage other congregations to purchase Judaica objects from them, and to bring some items to our own gift shop for people to purchase. Rabbi Miller and I have talked about connecting our Mispallelim students with the Nasenyi children. Perhaps future Mitzvah Projects for B’nai Mitzvah could incorporate our new friends in Uganda? There are so many possibilities! But will any of it make a lasting and significant difference? I do not know. But I am 100% certain that doing nothing won’t help them at all; and I firmly believe that we are obligated to try; to not desist from this holy work.
 
If anyone would like to learn more, and/or get involved in this project, please let me know. Thanks so much! 
 
Sincerely,
 
Rabbi Gerber

Va-Yeitzei: The Power of Biblical Karma

Karma isn’t something we talk about all too often in Judaism. But even when we don’t use the term, the concept is actually quite prevalent in the Biblical text… especially in Genesis. Time and again, the Torah wants its readers to understand that our behaviors and actions - all of them - have consequences. When we perform mitzvot and acts of kindness, we are often rewarded in one way or another. (And sometimes in ways we NEVER expected or could have predicted…) At the same time, when we behave deceitfully and hurt other people, a similar fate may indeed await us. Now, I think we all know this isn’t a one-for-one equation. You can’t observe a mitzvah and then be disappointed when you don’t see the immediate return on that “investment.” In fact, sometimes we may not notice the repercussions at all. Yet I personally feel that there is a lot of power in energy, attitude, and inclining ourselves towards the good. If you conduct yourself seeking out opportunities to love (all) your neighbor(s) as yourself, the compassion and kindness you are putting out into the universe DOES come back to you. And I would say that our Torah preaches that very same concept.

In this week’s parashah, Jacob has fled from his parents’ home, and he makes his way to his uncle, Laban’s house in Haran. It isn’t clear at first whether Laban knows what happened in Canaan, or why his nephew has shown up on his doorstep (tent-step?). Has word gotten back to him that Jacob deceived his father, Isaac, and stole his brother’s birthright and firstborn blessing? The text doesn’t reveal the answer explicitly, but the message is nevertheless conveyed loud and clear. When Laban tricks Jacob into marrying his older daughter, Leah, instead of the girl Jacob WANTED to marry, Rachel, Jacob complains to him about this dastardly thing that he has done. Laban retorts, “It is not the practice in our place to marry off the younger before the older…” (Gen. 29:26) It is possible that Laban STILL knows nothing of the drama back in Canaan, but it sure sounds like he’s throwing it in Jacob’s face: “Maybe you think that you, the younger child, can get away with anything you like back home… but that ain’t gonna fly around here, buddy!” Or, perhaps, phrased another way, the message that Jacob hears - and that really stings - is, “what goes around, comes around…”

But Laban isn’t exempt from this either. Every time we’ve seen him, he’s tricking someone, scheming something, or saying one thing while behaving in the opposite manner. Several times, he tries to ensnare Jacob or con him out of his wages, his livestock, or even his family! In the end, however, God helps Jacob keep what is rightfully his - due to hard work and honest behavior (maybe Jacob *finally* learned to improve his own karma…) - and punishes Laban for his dishonesty. By the end of Jacob’s twenty-year service, he has taken both of Laban’s daughters, his baker’s dozen of grandchildren, most of his flock, and more possessions still! I wonder if Laban had anywhere near enough self-awareness to see that his bad fortune was indeed the result of his own behaviors. He only had himself to blame for living by deceit and making his fortune through treachery. The end of his story brought him precisely the comeuppance he deserved…

What I especially like about this Biblical lesson is that it doesn’t apply to “bad” people in the Torah. Everyone, back then and even today, can be affected by the energy that we put out into the universe. Sadly, it doesn’t protect us from accidents, illness, pandemics, or tragedy. It isn’t a protective and impenetrable dome. Nevertheless, I believe our deeds matter, and in the long run, we DO experience reward for the mitzvot we perform and the acts of chesed (kindness) we commit to. If nothing else, we may earn the respect and gratitude of those around us, and from people who can see the true value of our character. Even then, bad things may befall us and we can always become the victims of bad luck… but I still stubbornly maintain that the karma we create follows us around through life. We certainly see it play out in the lives of Jacob and Laban, and it’s a message the Torah hopes you and I will take to heart as well.

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. Nick Youngson on Alpha Stock Images
2. Seth Lemmons on Wikimedia Commons
3. Zane A. Selvans on Jamesbeard.org
4. 8 Kome on Flickr

Chukat: You. Shall Not. Pass.

It’s an all-too-familiar story for us as Jews. If you listed countries that have treated us well consistently vs. those that have viewed us with skepticism, suspicion, and distrust - or worse; fear and hatred that led to violence - it would be a bleak picture. We often see our Jewish story as that of a nomadic people, but rarely has it allowed us to fly under the radar, avoid attacks, or remain undisturbed. WAY more often in our history, we have been immigrants, foreigners, and The Other… and it’s come with persecution and oppression. Obviously, this isn’t a very rosy picture, and it’s not one I enjoy lingering on. However, we can’t really ever hope to change our own narrative if we don’t first *see* it! So when our Torah portion this week provides an ancient example of this same treatment, I’m not suggesting it’s a “fun” episode to highlight. But I think taking the time to acknowledge how unpleasant yet disturbingly familiar it is, and how intrinsic it has been to our millennia-long history as Jews, can help us both strive for a better future for ourselves AND make us more sympathetic and caring for the plight of others.

Right now, we’re in the Book of Numbers. Parashat Chukat places us in the fortieth year of the Exodus, and the Israelites are getting both very good at, and very sick of, wandering. In chapter 20, we read: 

“Moses sent messengers to the king of Edom: ‘Thus says your brother, Israel: You know all the         hardships that have befallen us, that our ancestors went down to Egypt, that we dwelt in Egypt a long time, and that the Egyptians dealt harshly with us and our ancestors… Now we are in Kadesh, the town on the border of your territory. Allow us, then, to cross your country. We will not pass through fields or vineyards, and we will not drink water from wells…’” (14-17)

Any guesses how the king of Edom replied? I doubt this next verse will surprise you at all: “But Edom answered him, ‘You shall not pass through us, else we will go out against you with the sword.’” (18) A couple of verses later, Edom repeats its threat and even backs it up by approaching the Israelites armed. And the whole time I am wondering to myself: Why? They don’t explain their refusal to grant safe passage, and they don’t justify their antagonism. But then again, would an explanation have made me feel any better about it? Probably not.

And honestly, I know why the Edomites are hostile: Fear, distrust, suspicion, assumption of bad intent, and more! It’s just hard to look at, and to admit that this has been the response to us as Jews for millennia and all across the globe. But let us also remember how resilient we became, and remained, likely BECAUSE we were so unwanted. It has actually been a tremendous source of strength for the Jewish people to handle rejection and animosity, to build and rebuild as necessary, and to accept - and even embrace! - our nomadic predisposition. So while we may read this with sadness and despair (because neighbors have treated us this way for eons), I also think we should marvel at our ability to just keep on marching. If one border was closed, we just move on to the next one. And for all their bluster, you don’t see a lot of Edomites around today, now do you? Food for thought… 

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. Noborder Network on Flickr
2. Microsoft Corporation
3. SilviaP_Design on Pixabay
4. damian entwistle on Flickr

Mishpatim: It's All About Me... isn't it?

Ordinarily, when I write a D'var Torah or a blog post, I try to focus in on *one thing* that I want to speak about. Less is more. Have an interesting and/or funny beginning, make one good point, stick the landing, and get out of there! Maybe that sounds a bit trite, but let's face it, it works. When someone instead feels the need to make six individual arguments, and include a plethora of citations, it gets a bit... lengthy... and boring. This week, however, I had the unique opportunity to work with nine third graders in our religious school, who are going to be giving the D'var Torah at services on Saturday. Each child is going to mention a different mitzvah from our parashah, so I felt I was given the chance to examine nine separate commandments, rather than just focus on one. Yet interestingly, a single common thread still emerged, and a singular value floated to the surface of this mixture of Biblical laws.

This Torah portion is quite commandment-heavy to begin with. After having focused mainly on narrative and stories for all of Genesis and half of Exodus, this reading begins a lengthier section of Biblical text that center instead on rules and guidelines for creating a society in Ancient Israel. Slavery is now in the rearview mirror for our ancestors; now they have to start figuring out how to form a sustainable community. On Saturday, our Gimmel (3rd grade) class will touch upon laws related to treatment of foreigners and disenfranchised individuals in society; gossiping, lying, stealing; a person's obligations vis-a-vis the larger community (e.g. responsibility for animals, one's home and property, and what constitutes ownership); idolatry, blasphemy, and even the rules for holiday observance and sacrificial offerings. It sounds like a BIG undertaking, but I promise you, they're up to the task!

After we had decided on all the mitzvot the kids would be covering, we spoke for a bit in class about what connects them all together. Is there any underlying value that winds its way through all these rules and ordinances? The answer - which perhaps doesn't altogether surprise you - is "yes." If I had to phrase it in one sentence, I would say, "it isn't all about you." Whether the Torah is proscribing idolatry, describing holiday observance, decreeing rules to govern a society, or admonishing wealthier, more influential community members against taking advantage of those who are weaker - the message is actually the same. You must consider the needs of others, and what works best for you personally is simply NOT the only consideration. What perhaps *also* isn't all that surprising, is that as simple and straightforward as this message may be, it seems very difficult to learn and live by. And you and I both know I'm not just talking about people in Ancient Israel...

There is an interesting and complex balance at work here. On the one hand, we are mammals; hard-wired to stay alive, avoid potentially lethal situations, activate our fight-or-flight instinct at a moment's notice, and constantly prioritize survival. At the same time, we also pride ourselves on being civilized and peace-loving. We teach and preach compassion, kindness, sharing, manners, and teamwork. Not too infrequently, these basic values conflict. In those moments, our conscience and our sense of right-and-wrong is supposed to, ideally, determine if this is a life-threatening situation. And if it isn't, we should put aside those survival instincts and share our resources and means with those around us. Sometimes - and this is ESPECIALLY hard for some to fathom - we are actually meant to be altruistic EVEN when it may be a dangerous, potentially lethal circumstance.

Among many different groups and societies, this notion of "it's not all about you" is called The Golden Rule. It's phrasing may change slightly, but it's always the same principle. And yes, we know it contradicts an animal-instinct deep inside us. That's kind of the point. It isn't natural or obvious to lower your drive towards self-preservation, and instead emphasize your care and concern for someone else. But that is what makes us human, or at least has the potential to. I am grateful to these third graders for helping me see this, amidst all these disparate laws. And they got a pretty great D'var Torah out of it too!

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. The Good News Network
2. Pixabay
3. Gan Khoon Lay on theNounProject.com
4. Pixabay

5. Pixabay

 

Va-Yeira: A Message for All the Bad Guys Over There

Who are the good guys and who are the bad guys? So often, our human brains insist on trying to divide up the world into these two, simple, neat categories. Who is right and who is wrong? Who is like me and who is Other? It is amazing to me how insistent we are in thinking this way... and how utterly damaging and destructive it is. Even when we don’t intend to do so, we still picture the “bad guys” as terrible, morally bankrupt, soulless, evil people, and we lump them together into a monolith. It just makes things easier, doesn’t it? We don’t have to grapple with the nuance and “messiness” of knowing that they too - whoever “they” are - have families, hopes and dreams, fears, livelihoods, and redeeming qualities. This week, the Torah reminds us of the massive flaws in our dichotomous thinking... and just in time for us to try and figure out how to pick up, and reassemble, the broken pieces of our fractured country.

Our parashah first shows us the horrific tale of Sodom and Gomorrah. Pure evil, right? Irredeemable and utterly corrupt. Abraham tries to speak up for these doomed cities, urging God to search high and low for even a handful of “good apples” to save the batch. But God cannot, and so the two cities are demolished in fire and brimstone. Ok, so maybe I was wrong then? Maybe the text actually DOES want us to identify what sinister looks like, and is indeed urging us to sweep out evil from our midst? Maybe sometimes we SHOULD think in binary terms, because some things are completely awful, and therefore some other phenomena could be totally good. Well, not so fast. 

Right after this story ends, Abraham travels to a place called Gerar, where he assumes - like with the Sodomites and Gomorrah-ganders (?) (Why don’t we have a word for them?) - that “surely there is no fear of God in this place, and they will kill me because of my wife” (Gen. 20:11). But he is mistaken. The king, Avimelech, is insulted that Abraham would assume such horrid and immoral behavior. Even Abraham, who so recently tried to advocate on behalf of the Gomorrah-ites, falls back into this pattern of assuming the worst of The Other. The Torah challenges us: Don’t make these assumptions! You don’t know them, and you don’t know how they’ll behave. Maybe you saw one example of bad behavior, or even a pattern of poor decisions; do you think that encapsulates them? You wouldn’t want them to do that to you, would you?? 

This cautionary tale is so poignantly significant for this moment in our country. You may feel you have good reason to label someone else a godless heathen, an extremist, or a total Gomorrah-er. You can point to evidence, opinions, statements, and chants. Ok, but now what? Should we punish our enemies by raining down sulfurous fire on them, and blotting their name out from upon the earth? Maybe some would say “yes.” But that doesn’t really make us much better than our expectation of them, now does it? So let’s instead take a moment - or maybe we need a few weeks... - and then try to begin bridging the divide. It doesn’t require amnesia, naïveté, or an oversimplification of what’s at stake. It does, however, demand humility, compassion, and an open mind. The picture is essentially ALWAYS more complex and nuanced than we first thought. We just need to look a little closer - within and without - for the bridge-building to begin. 

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. pxfuel.com
2. pixy.com
3. pxfuel.com
4. Sparkle on Wikimedia Commons

Va-Yishlach: Seeing You Again is Like...

I want to invite you to ponder something with me. The Bible is full of expressions - much like we have in society and in regular speech today. Sometimes they make total sense, even millennia later, and sometimes they don't.

There are no correct or incorrect answers here. I would even argue, the question of what something means, or sometimes HOW something means, is not even meant to be answered at all... but really pondered. So, our ancestor Jacob makes a statement in our parashah, and I want to share with you what previous generations of rabbis posited about his intent, and what I think he might have meant... but before we do any of that, I want you to just consider what YOU believe Jacob was trying to say. Again, no "right" or "wrong" answers here. Jacob says to his brother, Esau: "... accept this gift from me, for to see your face is like seeing the face of God, and you have received me favorably." (Gen. 33:10) What does he mean?

Ready to read on? Ok, but first promise me that you thought about it for yourself first!! I'm trusting you... Fine, then let's continue. The context of Jacob's statement is that he's meeting Esau again, for the first time, after 20 years! And last they met,

Esau swore to kill his brother for stealing his birthright and their father's primary blessing. But immediately upon reconnecting, Esau kisses his brother, embraces him, and seems to have forgiven everything. The rabbis, however, aren't so certain, which I think also reflects a suspicion and wariness on Jacob's part, hinted at in the text itself. Rashi, one of the all-time great commentators, suggests that Jacob slips in a reference to God, to inform Esau that just before they met up, he wrestled with an angel (in Genesis 32)... and won! Says Rashi: "In order that he (Esau) should be afraid of him saying, 'He has seen angels and nevertheless escaped safely! Now, certainly, I shall be unable to overcome him.'" I'm guessing that's not where you, in your own interpretation, went with it, is it??

Another later medieval commentator, Sforno, connects our text to a passage in Exodus (23:15), where the Israelites are told not to appear before God empty-handed. Naturally, says Sforno, when you're granted

an audience with someone important, you bring a gift! So Jacob is flattering his brother, treating him like a big Muckety-Muck, or even (nearly) as significant as God! I loved reading these commentaries (and others)... because that's not what I saw in the text AT ALL. I thought that Jacob - perhaps earnestly, perhaps for sentimental effect - was saying that after twenty years apart, seeing you again is nothing short of miraculous. E.g. "I no sooner expected to see God's Face than I did yours, and it has just filled me with such tremendous joy and contentment to see you again; please accept this gift." But I certainly could be wrong, as could Rashi and Sforno... I just don't think any of this is about being "right" to begin with.

No, instead, I think the point is to imagine ourselves in this story, as one of the characters, perhaps, or even as a bystander, but one who can perceive the emotions and tensions that are passing back and forth. Is Jacob sincerely elated

to see Esau... or is he being courteous, yet vigilant? And what might it mean to see the Face of God - or perhaps more pertinent to both this story AND to our own lives, what do we mean when we use an expression like, "seeing you is like seeing the Face of God"? I don't think it's meant so much as a theological or existential question, but rather a relational and emotional one. I always enjoy seeing what our ancient and medieval ancestors saw going on in the text, and then juxtaposing it with our perspectives. They are often so vastly different, which is sometimes surprising... and frequently terrific! I like it so much, in fact, that you might even say it's like.... (insert expression here).


CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. Jespa on Wikimedia Commons
2. needpix.com
3. Joint Base Andrews
4. Ben Pollard on Flickr

L'Chaim (newsletter) article - November, 2019: Benefits of the Buddy System

From time to time, congregants tell me they SHOULD attend services more, they SHOULD come to Bible class or the monthly Lunch n’ Learn, and they SHOULD spend more time in the synagogue building. As you (hopefully) can imagine, I’m not a big fan of “should’s.” Yet I also understand where that guilty feeling may be coming from, and I want to discuss one barrier in particular that may keep people away from Ohev. And I’d like to offer a potential remedy...

Some people are daunted by the prospect of walking in alone. Maybe you aren’t so familiar with the Hebrew, the tunes, the regular attendees… or all of the above. Well, what if you weren’t entirely on your own? And where I USED TO think a solution might be partnering you with someone more familiar and comfortable in the service, I now wonder if people might prefer to enter with someone equally nervous and out of their element?? What if you connected with another congregant – a contemporary or not – who also wanted to gain more familiarity with services, and the two (or more) of you could stumble along and learn new skills TOGETHER????

Recently, two Hebrew School families genuinely inspired me in this regard. Each family was preparing for its first Bar Mitzvah ceremony, and the parents decided to lean into their mutual feelings of anxiety, and began to partner on nearly every aspect of the Big Day preparations. Neither was the expert; neither was the mentor! Just two families – and two individuals in particular – sharing all aspects of the stresses and successes, the frustration and fun. When the Bar Mitzvah weekend for each family arrived, the other family came to Thursday morning minyan, Friday evening services, and Saturday’s main service to support one another. It was marvelous to witness, start to finish!

But there’s no reason this needs to be limited to families preparing for a Bat or Bar Mitzvah! What if you just wanted to attend a Friday night service? Or the Congregational Dinner? Or an Ohev Players performance? It’s a little intimidating to walk into ANYTHING alone, feeling like an outsider. And while a mentor-mentee relationship is sometimes beneficial, I think a buddy-system, when you’re slogging along as equals, can be equally powerful and empowering… if not more so!

I invite you to give it some thought. If you’re considering exploring some aspect of Jewish and/or synagogue life, but aren’t sure how or where to get started, maybe you can partner up with someone and figure it out with your new “buddy.” This isn’t meant to become another “should” on your to-do list, but an invitation to feel more at home at Ohev. You may start out as buddies with one goal in mind, but you could potentially wind up with a new life-long friend!

Sincerely,

Rabbi Gerber

L'Chaim: February, 2019 - Expanding the Meaning of “Us”

I want to add a Hebrew word to our vocabulary. I know there are already a lot of Hebrew concepts and phrases that are challenging to keep track of, so adding one more isn’t great, but let’s give it a shot anyway. Over the last few years, we’ve done a lot of work together, as a community, to be more inclusive of interfaith families, of the LGBTQ community, and of other cultural, religious, and racial groups. In Hebrew, we might say that we’ve been really emphasizing the value of Kiruv (pronounced “KEY-roov”).

Kiruv comes from the word “Karov,” which means “to be close.” It is, in essence, the Hebrew word for “Inclusion.” What I like about the Hebrew word Kiruv, is that it reminds us that we have to get close to one another. We have to let others in, be vulnerable ourselves, and really change and shift our mindset to make room for another. We’re not just trying to absorb someone else into our homogenous, melting-pot-of-a-community, so that they too will adopt our values. Instead, we are trying to expand our capacity as a congregation, to make room for everyone’s needs, priorities, hopes, and expectations.

Among many other things, February is Jewish Disability Awareness, Acceptance, and Inclusion Month (JDAIM). This year, on the weekend of February 22nd and 23rd, we are going to spend some time examining our own Kiruv when it comes to our inclusion of people with disabilities. We do aspire to make our synagogue accessible and open, with a lift to help everyone ascend the bimah, a rear entrance that accommodates wheelchairs, and a sound system that assists those with hearing impairments. What more can we do? Well, for one thing, we can ask ourselves the question: “What more can we do?”!!

I know that I want to dedicate our Friday evening Shabbat B’Yachad service to this topic, and our D’var Torah on Saturday morning as well. More than that, I’m not sure. Will you be part of this conversation? And this planning process? If this topic resonates with you – whatever you interpret that to mean – please be in touch with me in the next couple of weeks.

Kiruv is a central Jewish value, and Ohev Shalom already aspires to make all who enter the doors at 2 Chester Road feel included, seen, and important. One way that we continue to embody this core principal is to repeatedly ask ourselves how we can do more. How can we bring more people closer, creating a spirit of inclusion and welcoming that endures and expands?

I cannot answer this question alone. In fact, if you look back up at that acronym for this month of Disability Inclusion, it’s almost the whole word “Judaism.” It’s just missing two letters, which happen to be the two letters this project needs most – US.

Sincerely,

Rabbi Gerber

Mishpatim: What's Lurking Behind the Laws??

Our Torah portion this week is SO focused on rules, ordinances, rituals, behaviors, legal clauses, and contracts that the very name of this parashah is Mishpatim,

meaning "laws." Gone are the readings about mysterious angels, Divine miracles, fantastical plagues, and inexplicable phenomena. Now we're ready for the nuts-and-bolts of the Israelite legal system, and the "fine print" that governed their society. However, this dichotomy isn't actually correct. Hidden behind the wording of all these mitzvot, these commandments, are countless references to spirits, angels, super-natural events, and even a preoccupation with dead and the hereafter. This upcoming Monday, Rabbi Miller are I are leading yet another Death Café conversation; it'll be our third. And this time, we thought we'd try something different, namely inviting people to share their own experiences of things other-worldly, mysterious, or perplexing.

Why? Because we never otherwise talk about these things. I mean, Judaism doesn't believe in spirits, demons, and all that mumbo-jumbo... right? Well, I'm not so sure. I think a lot of people DO believe in these things, and when we state, unequivocally, that Judaism does not, we alienate them.

Especially when our tradition very much incorporates these Other Worldly elements. Even a text like this week's, which is so heady and law-focused, still manages to spend a surprising amount of time on the paranormal. I hope you'll come to the conversation on Monday evening, to perhaps discover just how common and pervasive these kinds of experiences really are. When we dismiss things we do not understand, without giving them a second thought, we are actually closing ourselves off to something that can be quite important. Something deeply emotional and vulnerable, and perhaps even fundamentally human.

The hints are sometimes subtle, but they're unmistakable. In the midst of giving laws around interpersonal relationships and financial agreements, the Torah all of a sudden declares: "You shall not let a witch/sorceress remain alive" (Ex. 22:17).

There are many examples of these kinds of unsanctioned practitioners, and one theory is that the Torah was mainly concerned that their magic and spells WOULD work, not that they wouldn't! The authors very much believed in the power of dark magic... they just saw it as outside the realm of our Jewish ritual practices. The text also tells us that God "is sending an angel before you, to guard you on the way" (23:20), and adds "pay heed to him and obey him. Do not defy him!" (21), which definitely suggests the writer believed this was a concrete, visible angel! At the end of the parashah, we also read that Moses and the elders "saw the God of Israel" (24:10) and that God then "appeared before all the Israelites" (17). All of these, one might argue, are supernatural phenomena.

But why focus on all these "weird" things? Well, I think in today's world, we allow ourselves to get into a one-dimensional (and pointless...) debate about science vs. religion. As if it must be one or the other.

What if, instead, we imagined that most things in this world adhered to the laws of gravity, math, and logic... but that some things were outside that sphere? What if some aspects of our reality (and beyond) were simply inexplicable? If nothing else, our encounters with The Spirit Realm might be articulating some deep, emotional, desperate need; walling ourselves off to that voice can really do us harm. When hearing someone else share a mystical, weird story, we might be inclined to laugh, raise an eyebrow, or just think that person is a little crazy. Perhaps we could fight that inclination, and instead be open, accepting, and curious. It's easier to be skeptical and cynical, but there ARE other options. Death is, in fact, a vital element in the life cycle, even as it remains unknown and scary to many of us. A sense of mystery is very much in our nature as humans, just as it's intrinsic to our Biblical heritage. Let's suspend disbelief. Let's share and let's listen, and perhaps we too will actually SEE the Divine Spirit among us! Now wouldn't that be something?


Images in this blog post:
1. CC image courtesy of grigorezubat on Flickr
2. CC image courtesy of Rene Schwarz on Wikimedia Commons
3. CC image courtesy of Alice Popkorn on Flickr
4. CC image courtesy of Fotorech on Pixabay