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

Shanah Tovah!

Shanah Tovah - Happy New Year!

Shanah Tovah, everyone!

I won't be writing a new blog post this week, as I'm preparing for the holiday of Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, which starts tonight, Sunday. Every year, I write my main High Holiday sermons around a central, common theme. (You have to hear or read the sermons to find out this year's theme... :-p) After Rosh Hashanah, I will post the first two sermons in the series here on the blog, and then after Yom Kippur I will post the final two. I wish you all a wonderful holiday, and the start of a wonderful new year. May it be a year filled with new experiences, thought-provoking questions, growth, joy, love, and perhaps most importantly of all - for us and the entire world - peace.

Shanah Tovah u'Metukah - May you have a Happy, Healthy, and Sweet New Year!

Warmest regards,

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.")

L'Chaim (newsletter) article, September, 2022: Striving for Balance in the New Year

Striving for Balance in the New Year

It’s hard to believe, but we are about to enter our third High Holiday season of the Covid-era. And it really has turned into an era, hasn’t it? Remember when the pandemic first began, and we thought we were shutting down “normal” operations for a week or two? Obviously (we told ourselves), once this crazy thing blew over, it would be back to business as usual. Oy. Then we gradually realized it would be going on for longer - a lot longer - and once we entered the second year and the conversation shifted to one new strain after another, people really started to accept the concept of “a new normal.”

So, here we are in year three. The good news is, the fatality rates have dropped significantly, and we’re (please God) hopefully entering the phase where Covid is another version of the flu; requiring vigilance and inoculation, but not causing widespread existential dread. With the High Holidays just a few weeks away, this is a good time for us to reflect on what has remained the same and what has changed. What new things, for better and for worse, have we had to embrace or at least acquiesce to incorporating into our lives? And what have we had to let go of to function and to adjust? So many things seem vastly different, before Covid vs. after.

Yet, at the same time, our values and needs are in many ways still the same. How we feel about family, community, and the world around us persists, despite some new considerations. And it is this balance that I invite us all to hold onto as we enter the Yamim Noraim, the Days of Awe (a.k.a. The High Holidays). In Judaism, we sometimes talk about “Keva” and “Kavanah.” Keva refers to fixed prayers that repeat service after service, day after day, century after century; e.g. the Shema, Amidah, Aleinu, and Kaddish. Some stuff remains the same, and that helps us feel safe, comfortable, familiar, and a sense of belonging.

But there’s also Kavanah, meaning “spirituality” or “intention,” and very often this requires newness, change, updating, and fresh approaches. We are encouraged to offer our own individual, unique prayers, and through those prayers perhaps view ourselves and the world around us with a fresh perspective. And this is my hope for all of us as we enter the High Holidays. Let us hold onto what is the same year after year and feels safe and reassuring - the Sanctuary, the familiar tunes, and the cycle of Jewish holidays. Yet let’s also embrace the “new normal” of hybrid services with a zoom component, and the ways that our lives feel different this year from every year that came before.

We need a healthy balance of Tradition and Change. It is true for navigating a post-pandemic world, how we should think about Jewish prayer, and perhaps also for how we live our lives. It is good to feel comfortable, yet it’s also imperative that we challenge ourselves to do new (and sometimes scary) things. Rosh Hashanah is still a few weeks away. I hope we can all use this time to find our Keva *and* our Kavanah, and enter the new year with both a sense of belonging and groundedness, yet also feeling ready (and maybe even excited?) for whatever changes still await us.

Shanah Tovah u’Metukah - I wish everyone a Happy, Healthy, and Sweet New Year!

Sincerely,

Rabbi Gerber

 

 

 

 

 

Devarim (Shabbat Chazon): Doom and Gloom… and Celebration Too

This Shabbat, we are starting the fifth Book of Moses, called “Devarim” or “Deuteronomy.” In addition, it is the Shabbat before Tisha b’Av, which is a day of mourning and commemoration on the Jewish calendar. And the Shabbat immediately preceding Tisha b’Av is always called “Shabbat Chazon,” meaning the “Shabbat of Vision.” The vision that we’re talking about, however, is unfortunately not an uplifting or joyous one, but rather the first prophecy expressed by Isaiah, filled with words of rebuke and predictions of doom. It isn’t easy to sit with these emotions of grief and sadness, but I think it’s really quite necessary. Tisha b’Av primarily recalls the destructions of both Temples in Jerusalem (in 587 BCE and 70 CE), along with many other calamities that have befallen our ancestors over the course of millennia. Is it fun to talk about death and destruction, or to have to listen to Isaiah’s words of anger and frustration? No, but think about what it can yield for us all on the other end.

It’s important to think of Tisha b’Av in the context of what we might call “normal” grief, i.e. when a loved one dies and we’re mourning a personal loss. If we don’t acknowledge our sadness and allow ourselves to cry, we can’t process what has happened, and it is very difficult to move on and begin to heal. For both our national grief and our personal grief, the goal is not to “get over” our mourning and forget about our loss, but rather to incorporate it into our lives in a healthier way. Tisha b’Av clearly isn’t joyful and celebratory, but perhaps by allowing ourselves to be fully present to what our ancestors endured, we can appreciate our festivities more completely. After all, if those calamities had been worse, we wouldn’t still be here to talk about them, so the very fact of our being able to remember and retell our history is a major cause for celebration!

I would also add that not every occasion needs to be about merriment and feasting. Tisha b’Av is always one of the most spiritual and impactful services for me personally, despite its unpleasant theme. We sit in a dimly lit sanctuary late in the evening (on Saturday night at 8pm), we chant the beautiful Book of Lamentations, and we reflect and introspect. I certainly enjoy many of our other holidays as well, but there is something ancient and powerful about Tisha b’Av that just doesn’t come out for me in many other days on our calendar. I know Saturday night isn’t the most convenient time, and maybe I haven’t sold it very well for you, but I nevertheless encourage you to come and experience it for yourselves. It’s really unlike any other observance we have.

Whether you’re able to attend or not, I also invite you to think about the importance of embracing the wide spectrum of our emotions. Some feel easier to sit with and enjoy, while others can feel painful or uncomfortable. I get it. But that’s also what it means to be a human being, isn’t it? I certainly know it’s a vital part of what it means to be a Jew. In fact, I would argue that our healthy, repeated, persistent engagement with ALL aspects of our history is one of the great powers of the Jewish People, and a major reason why you and I are still here, able to talk about it all! On Shabbat Chazon, we may be chanting a literal doom-and-gloom prophetic vision. And even though Isaiah’s prophecies did come true for the people living at that time, it is also true that we are still here. The Jewish People are still here and able to observe all the sacred occasions on our calendar, and experience all the emotions that come with them. So yes, we will be chanting a pretty sad text. But our very ability to chant that text is itself a cause for celebration. 

Chukat: I See Your Calf and Raise You a Snake

Even if you're not that familiar with the Torah or all the stories contained within it, you probably know a few central ideas. You might have heard of Adam & Eve, Noah, Abraham, slavery in Egypt, the Ten Commandments, and a handful of other key points. One such concept that I think is pretty well-known is that you're not supposed to make graven images. No idols, no statues for worshipping, no house gods of any shape or size, and just no bowing down to, or praying to, anyone or anything but God. And the most infamous example of what not to do has got to be the Golden Calf, which the Israelites built in the desert and venerated as if it were a god. And clearly, based on that story, we all learned that no such images or statues can be used in ANY way. Right?? Well... yes and no. This week, our Torah reading offers us a surprising and bewildering example of a permitted statue, and - just like so many other stories in the Bible - it leaves us with more questions than answers. As it should be.

It starts the same way too many other stories from this time period already have, namely with the people rebelling against Moses, Aaron, and especially God. The people bark at their leaders: "Why did you make us leave Egypt to die in this wilderness?!? There is no bread and no water, and we have come to loathe this miserable food [the manna]!" (Numbers 21:5) By this point, God is getting pretty darn fed up with these ingrates, and God sends against the people a plague of poisonous, deadly snakes! When the people inevitably repent and cry out for help, God instructs Moses to do something most surprising: "Make a seraph [winged snake] figure and mount it on a standard. And if anyone who is bitten looks at it, he shall recover." (v. 8) So I guess part of the message we're meant to take from this is, calves are bad and snakes are good? Now, we should acknowledge that God directing Moses to do something is quite a bit different than the people just erecting a statue on their own. Nor does anyone ever call out to the flying-snake-thingy: "This is your god, O Israel, who brought you out of the land of Egypt" as they did for the Golden Calf in Exodus, 32:4. Nevertheless, I think the use of an animal statue is understandably confusing... 

I also feel it necessary to point out that our fears regarding the serpent-statue are not unfounded. Centuries after the Exodus, we find an intriguing reference back to this mystical healing device in the Second Book of Kings, during the religious reformations under King Hezekiah: "He [Hezekiah] abolished the shrines and smashed the pillars and cut down the sacred post. He also broke into pieces the bronze serpent that Moses had made, for until that time the Israelites had been offering sacrifices to it; it was called Nechushtan." (II Kings, 18:4) Despite God's best intentions, some people simply couldn't resist the urge to offer sacrifices TO the snake-statue as a graven image. The commentaries speculate wildly about what's going on here. One perspective suggests God used a snake to remind the Israelites of the conniving serpent that misled Adam & Eve back in the Garden of Eden. That snake was punished for his incendiary words; and the Israelites were similarly punished for their own inflammatory attacks on God and Moses. Another commentary posits that the serpent is a poignant symbol of how dangerous the desert can be, and might help remind the Israelites that the only reason they've been surviving for 40 years is because of God's favor.

To me, an important lesson that comes from this story is intentionality. The same act can be either a destructive transgression or a source of healing. Similarly, when we express a sentiment to another person, our decision to infuse our comment with kindness versus passive-aggression versus outright hostility can change everything about how it's received. Even the energy with which we express ourselves can vastly alter our words, regardless of whether we do so intentionally or not. Perhaps the text is suggesting that have to be mindful of ourselves and how we are perceived by others all the time. We cannot hide behind saying a certain act or a particular phrase "always" means one thing and not another, it's much more complex than that. Our body language, our energy, our facial expressions, our intentions, and our tone of voice; all of them contribute to how we are perceived and how our sentiments are understood. At times, the text can seem inconsistent, as if it's prioritizing one act over a seemingly identical one elsewhere, possibly for arbitrary reasons. But those moments invite us to look closer, read more sensitively, and pay more attention to nuance, contrast, and intention. When we do that, we can learn so much more from the text, and even learn more about our own behaviors as well.

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. Wellcome Images on Wikimedia Commons
2. 7ustalvin on Wikimedia Commons
3. Jubjang on Rawpixel
4. Sheila Brown on PublicDomainPictures

Korach (repost from 2011): The Challenge of Feedback Continues

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