B'midbar: Learning to Count... In More Ways Than ONE

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

Bechukotai: A Tough Gift To Give

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

Emor: Raising the Level of Our Humanity

It ain't easy being an ancient priest. I'm not speaking from personal experience, mind you, but I'm pretty sure I'm right about this one. In this week's Torah portion, we read about all the restrictions imposed on the Kohanim in the ancient Temple: they were not allowed to be near a dead body, they had shaving regulations, marriage restrictions, physical limitations, and even rules imposed on their family members. They were expected to be societal role models, and as such they were put on a pedestal and became too holy to approach; the model of perfect behavior, but totally inaccessible to the average person.

This must have been especially tough considering the other cultures surrounding Israel. Many other groups practiced

hedonism, idol worship, sexual promiscuity, and had no rules about interpersonal behavior. In a sense, we are looking at two extreme ends of human behavior, and neither extreme is ideal. Even today, we are tempted to stray too far one way or the other, when really we must strive to find a balance somewhere in the middle.

Right now, our sense of balance is really being put to the test. How did you feel when you heard about Osama Bin Laden's death?

More importantly, how did you behave? On one end of the extreme, we saw people cheering his death in the streets, singing "Hey, hey, goodbye," as if he were a basketball player who just

fouled out of a game. Along with this,

we have the upsetting, though perhaps not surprising, line of merchandise that has emerged already, marking the death of Bin Laden. I certainly acknowledge that he was a horrific person, a mass murderer and a terrorist, and I will even go so far as to say that I am relieved that he is dead. But how are we better than our enemies if we cheer the death of another human being, wishing we had photos of his demise so that we could revel in it even more?

At the same time, however, I don't want to take this to the other extreme. I won't pretend that Bin Laden might have repented, that forgiveness, or even negotiation, was an option in this situation. The Book of Ecclesiastes reminds us that there IS a time for war; we do need to defend ourselves and our citizens, and we do need to show our enemies that we too are strong and capable. But isn't there a balance? Isn't there a way to be grateful that Bin Laden can terrorize us no longer, without wearing a T-shirt ridiculing him?

Part of our task as human beings is to rise above our natural instincts. I'm not saying we don't have crass, violent instincts,

or that we should somehow get rid of them entirely. I'm saying we need to accept that we do have them, but recognize that we need to elevate our behavior; we need to be better. The Bible teaches us about being a role model.

We may not accept the ancient priesthood as our ideal today, but that's just because society has changed, it has evolved. Our model is much more approachable today; we all can be role models to one another, if we set our mind to it. But in order to do so, we must be better than our enemies. We need to show them, and the rest of the world, a different model, and lead by example. It may not be easy, but if we are serious about defeating Bin Laden, not just the individual, but everything he stood for, there is no other choice.

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of Mik Hartwell on Flickr

2. CC image courtesy of bloomsberries on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of davem_330 on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of alancleaver_2000 on Flickr

5. CC image courtesy of sagriffin305 on Flickr

Kedoshim: The Hearter Things to Change in Life

The Torah never tells us the obvious stuff. Think about it. Nowhere in the Torah do you read, "Thou shalt eat when thou art hungry." Duh. "Remember to breath both in and out in order that thou might live and not turn blue in the face, keel over, and die." Thank you. Very helpful. Self-preservation, base instincts, and human nature are things that we don't need instructions in order to fulfill. You generally remember to hold your breath when going under water, and after putting your hand on a hot stove just once, you most likely don't need a second reminder to stay away.

Once you get to common sense and common decency, however, the Torah starts to give more explicit instructions, and for good reason. This week's Torah portion lays out a ton of laws that govern behavior... and throughout the course of human history we've broken pretty much every single one. Even the really big ones - commandments like "Don't steal stuff," "Don't kill anyone," and "Don't cheat on your spouse" - they make perfect sense to all of us, and we're not surprised to hear they are prohibited, yet people nevertheless break them all the time. Why is that? Why are we so good at taking care of ourselves, needing no help to stay alive and navigate life's individual challenges and pitfalls, yet we struggle terribly when it comes to creating a productive society, or even just following laws that are explicitly laid out for us?

We could rail about this for hours. We could point to societal ills, we could point fingers, and we could argue until we turned blue in the face (just don't forget to breath...). But let's ignore all that for a moment. Let's focus instead on one important lesson from our Torah portion, Kedoshim, which unfortunately is a lesson we might prefer to ignore. It's a concept that affects us all, that every, single person is guilty of, and that is excruciatingly difficult to change. In Leviticus, 19:17, the Torah tells us, "You shall not hate your kinsfolk in your heart." Now I'm not saying most of us hate our "kinsfolk," some of us might be very close with our family members. But the commandments we violate are not in public, not visible, not even expressed in words; they are the feelings in our hearts. Kedoshim governs not only the behaviors that others see, but also the subtle, hidden, private actions that are a big part of our lives: How much we give (or never give) to charity that no one sees, how often we say (or don't say) "thank you" to the guy who fills our water glass in restaurants, how often we change lanes on the highway without signaling, or how we react to the plight of people halfway around the earth. These little behaviors - on our own, in our homes, when no one is watching - they are the ones that can truly change the world.

Throughout our parasha, the Torah keeps repeating the phrase "I am the Lord," or "I, the Lord, am your God." For example, "Do such-and-such, I am the Lord," "Don't do this-and-that, I, the Lord, am your God." Why? Because God is with us every step of the way. God is not only the Lord of the Universe, God is also aware of each person's behavior. "I am your God," meaning that God is in relationship with all of us, with each of us, and at all times. Like recycling, every little bit makes a difference. Your choices may seem minuscule, but they aren't. Your actions affect the course of human history, and they can improve it if you set your mind to it.

I encourage each of you to read through this week's Torah portion here. Find just one behavior that you can work on, one challenge that you are willing to take on over the summer, leading into the High Holidays. I know it isn't easy. If it were easy, the Torah wouldn't need to tell us about them. But the Torah does tell us about them. These commandments are important, and in order to create a better future you too are important. Just take a peak. I'll never know if you looked, or if you decided to make any kind of change. In fact, no one else will ever know. Well, maybe Someone will know...


Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of billaday on Flickr

2. CC image courtesy of uncleweed on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of Ellipsis-Imagery on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of The Local People Photo Archive on Flickr

5. CC image courtesy of telepathicparanoia on Flickr

Pesach: Connecting to My Heritage with a Nail and a Palm Branch

When I was in college, a roommate of

mine introduced me to an interesting Jewish holiday ritual. After the festival of Sukkot concluded, he took the palm branch of the lulav and nailed it to the wall above the door of our college room. Ah, the college years... Naturally I asked him what he was doing, and he told me that there is a custom of saving the lulav and using it to kindle the fire in which we burn our chametz before Passover. In doing a bit more research on the subject, I indeed discovered that many people save their lulav branches for six months, so that they can fulfill multiple mitzvot with the same object. In a sense, it is a way of honoring the lulav by using it for more than one mitzvah. I thought it was a pretty nifty custom.So every year since then I save my lulav, hang it on the wall, point it out to people, explain the custom, get myself ready... and then promptly forget to bring it down to burn with my chametz. Some years I forget it for weeks or months, and other times (like this year), I remember it 24 hours later. One day I'll get it right...

I bring up this custom because it reminds me of the cyclical nature of our lives. Judaism has many rituals that emphasize this: The full of month of Elul used as preparation before Rosh Hashanah and the High Holidays,

the ten Days of Awe between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, the four special Shabbatot leading into Passover, and the 49-day Omer period between Passover and Shavuot. We do this a lot. We connect things, and we link together Jewish observances. Even at our Pesach Seder, we talk about connecting one Seder to another across time: "This year we are here, next year may we be in Jerusalem." We reflect on ancient Seders, medieval Seders, Seders from our childhood, and the future Seders where we will celebrate the arrival of the Messianic Era. One cycle after another, one cycle inside another.

At Ohev Shalom we've been debating quite a bit about whether our Seder should be traditional - filled with all the practices, songs, foods, chants, and lame jokes that we're used to from so many past Seders - or whether it should be innovative - with new questions, modern challenges, and experimental activities. And most of us answered that it needs to be both. Tradition helps link us backwards, to our ancient ancestors as well as our recently departed family members, and innovation helps propel us forward, inspiring our children and empowering them to keep these practices alive for future generations.

We get so bogged down in day-to-day life, we rarely have

opportunities to step back and reflect. Yet more than any other holiday, Passover is the perfect time for some reflection. How was

your Seder different this year from last? Who used to be there every year, always making the (insert special holiday food), but who passed away since last Pesach? Which nephew/niece/grandchild seemed to be an infant two minutes ago, but now stands proudly on a chair and sings the Four Questions in Hebrew? We compare foods, tunes, and stories to Seders of years and decades past, and we feel, in that moment, deeply connected to our heritage. And that is precisely why we think in terms of cycles.

Reminding ourselves about the passage of time helps us appreciate this moment, right now. As we continue on with the last five days of Passover, I invite you to reminisce about what this holiday means to you, and how it can serve as a connector and a reminder in your life. To what and to whom is entirely up to you.

Chag Kasher ve-Sameach - Happy Passover!

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of sandy.zieba on Flickr

2. Image courtesy of my iPhone

3. CC image courtesy of Suzie T on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of Robert Couse-Baker on Flickr

5. CC image courtesy of telepathicparanoia on Flickr

Acharei Mot: Focusing on the After

"How do we face the reality of death?"

That line begins a reading that I include in nearly every funeral or unveiling that I perform. Though it later goes on to speak beautifully about cherishing our loved ones while they're alive and honoring the memories of those who have died, to me, the importance of this poem is in the very first line. Death is indeed a reality that many of us have trouble facing. We joke about death, we trivialize it, we ignore it, or we keep ourselves busy to simply avoid it; but ultimately, we don't like acknowledging the inevitable reality of death. Why?

Perhaps it represents chaos, standing as the definition of what we cannot explain or fully understand. It also may symbolize finality, after which we cannot resolve disputes or disagreements, say "I'm sorry" or "I love you." For many, it is even the embodiment of sadness and fear. So why would anyone want to talk about it?? Because it is a reality, and it is an important part of life. We appreciate living when we acknowledge dying; we treasure family, friendship, and love because they do not last forever. Even in other areas of life, the same is true, though we may not always recognize it. Food and drink taste better when there's a final bite waiting and we can see a bottom to the glass.

This week's parasha is called Acharei Mot, and it begins by telling us about what happened to Aaron and Moses after the deaths of Aaron's two sons, Nadav and Avihu. But the two most important words of the entire portion are the ones that give it its name: Acharei Mot - After the death. These words remind us that there IS something that happens after someone dies, even (and especially) when the death was a horrific tragedy. Yes, death represents a finality for those who died, but the living must go on! Death cannot become crippling; locking us into a spiral of grief and lament. Aaron was surely devastated after his sons died, but this week we learn that he moved on. Life continued.

But Aaron's sons did not die in last week's portion. It happened three weeks ago, and two other portions came in between, reminding us that moving on with life does not happen instantaneously. It takes time. There is a beautiful story about King Solomon, which I will happily share with you if you're interested, that teaches us the invaluable phrase, "This too shall pass." When we feel overcome by catastrophe, we must remember that things will, eventually, improve. Aaron needed time to grieve and mourn, but he also needed to begin to live again, and honor the memory of his two sons by moving on with his own life.

"This too shall pass" also applies to the good times in life. They won't last forever, so savor and appreciate joy as long as you can. Holding on to the wonderful memories and moments we have experienced gives us strength to face whatever lies ahead. Ultimately, life is a roller coaster with highs and lows. If we face it honestly, acknowledging that life will contain both joy and sadness, opportunities and challenges, then we will truly get the most out of every moment, and live life to its fullest.

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of spisharam on Flickr

2. CC image courtesy of pink_fish13 on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of scragz on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of Sister72 on Flickr

5. CC image courtesy of aprilzosia on Flickr

Metzora: An Appeal to My Fellow Lepers...

Who is in and who is out? Who gets to remain inside the camp, and who has to wait outside? When you come right down to it, that is the subject of this week's Torah reading. On the surface, we are continuing the topic of ritual purity and impurity which began in last week's reading. A major part of this week's parasha describes how an "afflicted" and "impure" individual must remain outside the Israelite camp, and only once they have become pure again may they reenter. Even once they're back with the in-crowd, sometimes they must actually remain outside their own tents for seven additional days!

With this week's reading, it's easy to get bogged down in talking about disease and uncleanliness; but again, to me it's really more about who's in and who's out... and who gets to decide. Just like in ancient times, today we still judge one another, creating divisions rather than dialog. Within the Jewish world, we often feel the need to measure up to a standard of holiness or perfection, jumping through hoops to appease those considered more "pure" or "righteous" than us. When it comes to aliyah, conversion, marriage, and prayer (among other issues), one group makes all the decisions, and pushes everyone else around. Today I would like to add my voice to those who push back.

I was inspired by two recent articles: "Toward a more assertive liberal Judaism" by a former professor of mine, Alex Sinclair, and "Warning: Fundamentalist Morass Ahead" by the Executive Director of the Masorti Movement in Israel, Yizhar Hess. Both authors indicate that Israel is turning into a fundamentalist state, where the Orthodox agenda dominates all aspects of political, social, economic, and military life. And they warn that this crisis is quickly (and

somewhat quietly) swallowing up the entire country. Sinclair writes, "It is Orthodox Judaism that is the main force leading to the destruction of the Jewish people's unity," and he goes so far as to compare liberal Jews (that's us!) to abused spouses who allow the Orthodox authority in Israel to insult us, refuse our conversions, take our money and give nothing back in return; and yet we don't speak up because we don't want to disturb the status quo.

Hess writes, "When a full 13% of all 18 year-olds declare that Torah-learning is their life's work, and as a result the army must cut back on the number of pre-academic programs and public service programs it supports because there are not enough soldiers, something is rotten." There is a line being drawn of who is in and who is out. The Orthodox leadership in Israel is trying to muscle out everyone else; turning us into lepers waiting outside the camp, hoping and praying that we will "fit in" to their rules and be allowed to come home. Why? It is our country as well, and we need to speak up, loud and proud, if we want there to still be a homeland for us to return to.

Towards the end of his article, Sinclair writes, "we liberal Jews must be more prepared to dispute the fundamentalist orthodox position in our dialogues [sic] with orthodox friends and colleagues." In order to dispute, we must know. Please think about these questions: If you're a liberal Jew, do you know why? If you care deeply about Israel, but have no intention of making aliyah, can you defend your position

with pride and confidence? Sitting idly by is not an option, because the situation is devolving quite rapidly. Israel is our country as well. We are not lepers, and we simply don't have the time to wait for a priest to come and declare us pure. We are pure right now, let's get up and tell someone.

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of Gabe Photos on Flickr

2. CC image courtesy of Alasdair Middleton on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of Simply Boaz on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of leah.jones on Flickr

5. CC image courtesy of Jewishfan on Flickr