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.")

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

R'eih: Maintaining a Delicate, but Crucial, Balance

Sometimes I like to pose the question - to myself and to members of my congregation: Is the Torah focused on situations as they *are* or as they should be? Is it existing in the real or the ideal? And, in true rabbinic (and possibly infuriating...) fashion, my answer is: Both. Because one of the central messages of the Torah is that we should be grounded in our current reality, with our eyes wide open to the pains and challenges of the world, while always mindful of all the blessings and opportunities we have, right here, right now, in our lives. Simultaneously, we can never give up hope of things improving, evolving, and growing continuously towards a better future for ourselves and for the next generation. We must hold these two in balance; fully present to today, yet also ready to work with our hearts, minds, and bodies for an improved tomorrow. How do I know it's both? Well, let's look at two contradictory verses in this week's Torah portion and see what you think.

In Deuteronomy, 15:4, the Torah (through Moses) clearly states: "There shall be no needy among you." The text goes on to say that IF you obey all of God's mitzvot and stay loyal and faithful to Adonai, there will be no poor, no hungry, no oppressed people in Israel. Yet just seven verses later, the Torah also declares: "For there will never cease to be needy ones in your land..." (v. 11) Sooo, which one is it? If we do everything right (big "if," I know...), isn't the Torah saying there will be no more poverty? So how can the text also proclaim that there will ALWAYS be need and hunger?? No matter what you do! Do you see how it's a question of balance, of holding two seemingly contradictory messages and truths in mind at all times? We are not allowed to forget what we know to be a REAL truth about our world; that there will "never cease to be needy ones in your land." It is simply the reality of life on earth, basically as far back as the origins of our species! Nevertheless, we are not allowed to despair or give up hope. We STILL have to work constantly to alleviate the suffering of those in need. The real *must* be balanced with the ideal.

By the end of this weekend, we will have begun the Jewish month of Elul. It is the final month leading up to Rosh Hashanah and the start of a new Jewish year. Yup, it's panic-time for rabbis... (!!!) To remind us that we should be preparing ourselves, spiritually, for the High Holidays throughout this month, we add a special psalm (#27) to every daily prayer service, and we also blow one set of shofar blasts each morning as well. Furthermore, the ancient rabbis look at the name of the month, Elul, and see a hidden acronym. The four letters of "Elul" in Hebrew are Alef-Lamed-Vav-Lamed, and they see it as standing for "Ani l'Dodi, v'Dodi Li." "I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine," from Song of Songs (6:3). In their mind, "beloved" isn't just a love interest or a spouse; it refers to the importance of interpersonal relationships throughout our lives. We do not live in a vacuum, and as we prepare ourselves for the High Holidays, we must not only focus on improving ourselves or our own lives. We must commit to these visions of social betterment, clearly outlined in the Torah, to perform the sacred work of Tikkun Olam, repairing the world.

Again, we need to hold up these two challenging concepts at all times; the real and the ideal. It can be unbelievably frustrating and discouraging to look around and acknowledge the amount of pain, oppression, poverty, and unfairness that exists in our world. I alone cannot change all of it. I can't even affect a fraction of it! But I still have to try. Certainly in today's reality - as we continue to battle a deadly, global pandemic - we realize perhaps more than ever how interconnected we are with all other people on earth. And with the planet itself. It is inescapable. We cannot shut out the ills of the world... but we can't let ourselves be crushed by their weight either. So as we prepare to enter Elul, and we remind ourselves how intertwined we are with all the "beloveds" who inhabit this earth beside us - including animals that walk, swim, or fly around us AND the vegetation growing under and above us - let us each examine ourselves. How do you balance the ideal with the real in your own life, and in the world you see around you? And as we prepare to begin a new Jewish year with a fresh start, how will you do your part in Tikkun Olam, in repairing our collective home and making this a better place to live for everyone? Welcome to the start of the High Holiday season, everyone!

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. Solo Shutter on Stocksnap
2. pxhere.com
3. Folio Creations on Etsy
4. elycefeliz on Flickr
 

Eikev: Thanks for the Grub - Yay, God!

Judaism considers it important to bless our food. We have short phrases to recite *before* we eat something (with specific wording for basically ANY food or drink you can imagine!), and then longer prayers that are recited or sung *after* we eat as well. So let's take a moment and ask ourselves, “why?” Well, the Biblical explanation comes from a single verse in this week’s Torah portion… but that only tells us part of the story. It can get us thinking about the importance of blessing our foods, but then we need to dig deeper still. Our ancestors believed a fundamental truth about how food relates to the Divine, to the earth, and to our bodies, so let’s examine their perspective and see whether it remains relevant for us today as well. 

You may be familiar with the traditional Jewish Grace after Meals, a.k.a. Birkat Ha-Mazon, a.k.a. “the benching” (Yiddish for "blessing") There are shorter versions and longer ones, with special additional paragraphs for Shabbat and holidays. Interestingly, in even the longest version, there’s only ever ONE verse that comes directly from the Torah. The benching does include psalms and other Biblical quotes, but in terms of material specifically from The Five Books of Moses, it’s just this one verse from our parashah: “When you have eaten, and are satiated, you shall bless Adonai, your God, for the good land which God has given you.” (Deut. 8:10) So back to our original question, why? Why do we bless God? Because the Jewish theology around food is quite clear - you don’t own anything that you eat. It all belongs to God, and you/me/everyone needs to express gratitude for our ability to eat and be satisfied. 

Maybe that concept seems obvious to you… or maybe you fundamentally disagree (and feel free to comment below and share your thoughts), but it has always resonated with me. Whether we grow our own food, support a farm collective, or buy everything from a store or online grocer; the food still isn’t ours. We really need to acknowledge that in our community today, many of us do not struggle with food insecurity, the way millions of people do across the globe every single day. We had no control over where we were born or in what era. Our financial means and our abundant access to food - all these things are miraculous gifts from God! Yet sometimes we let ourselves think that we made this happen. 

All around us, we hear sentiments in society that essentially amount to some version of: “Why should I share my resources with others who don’t deserve it?” The Torah’s resounding answer is, it’s not your decision. God gave you this bounty, not you yourself, and you are expected - required even - to thank God for all these blessings. There are so many dangerous pitfalls where we may be tempted to think we made our own successes happen. We contributed, sure, but God’s partnership was, and always will be, vital for anything to work. When we acknowledge that, we hopefully learn to be humble, and then ideally show compassion towards (all!) others who have less than we do. So many of us are truly blessed to not worry where our next meal will come from. That verse I quoted from Deuteronomy reminds us that when it’s effortless for us to eat, and obvious that we’ll get to feel satiety, we must then also bless God. Now, who’s hungry?

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. jimbomack66 on Wikimedia Commons
2. AllaSerebrina on Deposit Photos
3. pxhere.com
4. The US National Archives

Ki Tavo: Cursed by Chaos

No one likes bad news. We don't like to hear it, and we CERTAINLY don't like to deliver it. But the problem is, sometimes there simply IS bad news that must be conveyed. We can cover our ears, run away, sing loudly to drone out the unwelcome "noise," or even attack what we deem to be the source and/or bearer 

of it... But none of those things change reality. And not only will those things not improve the situation, but they actually make everything worse. Denial, evasion, and anger exacerbate the problems. It leads to something that every one of us, in 2020, has become all too familiar with: Chaos. The result of refusing to address climate change appropriately? Chaos. Our current predicament with no unified message or coordinated effort to end the pandemic? Chaos. And the disaster that ensues when we endlessly, endlessly deny that there is systemic racism and refuse to change centuries-old practices that continue to harm and kill? Chaos. So yeah, there's bad news to deliver here. But if you close out this blog post and/or stubbornly refuse to listen, the Torah has a very "interesting" and graphic list of consequences that await you...

So, look, I'm not saying *I* have all the answers here. Most of the time it feels like I have closer to NONE of the answers. But if we all agree that 

the problems swirling around us are undeniable, doesn't it make sense to start doing a lot more listening and a lot less yelling? Because this week's Torah portion includes a very stark and uncomfortable list of the curses and tragedies that were predicted to befall our ancestors - and yes, us as well... - for non-compliance with the Torah's commandments and laws. The "list" from our parashah is actually an entire section, a tirade, if you will, that has its own name, The "Tochecha," meaning "Rebuke." Here are some of the unsettling components in the Tochecha, that feel alarmingly relevant in our lives RIGHT NOW:

First, and most painful, the Tochecha speaks repeatedly about disease, plague, and... you know, pandemic. I'll spare you the details, but in Deuteronomy, chapter 28, illness in one form or another is referenced in verses 21, 22, 27, 35, 59, and 

60-61. There's also reference to heat, drought, and environmental disasters in verses 22, 23, and 40, that I am sure in NO WAY are meant to make us think of our current forest fires, powerful hurricanes, or floods. In addition, the Tochechah mentions infestations of locusts, crickets, and worms; surely nothing like the spotted lantern flies, murder hornets, or yes, locusts, that plague the planet today. If none of this was on-the-nose enough, the Tochechah includes this verse, which never stood out quite so much as it does in 2020: "[The enemy] shall shut you up in all your towns throughout your land until every mighty, towering wall in which you trust has come down." (v. 52) I read this and thought "quarantine"; and indeed, many trusted institutions are falling by the wayside as a result. 

The last section I wanted to mention, which is particularly painful in light of the protests, lootings, and violence ravaging our country at the moment. Repeatedly in the Tochechah, God tells the Israelites that what awaits you is terror, fear, and ultimately chaos (verses 20, 25, 29, 32, 34, 49-50, and 64-67). This sounds 

excruciatingly like what's happening across America, and it's tempting to point to one side or the other as the "bad guys," the "instigators," or the "perpetrators of violence." However - and here's the part I think we ESPECIALLY need to hear - it is the act of turning on one another that leads us down the path of curses. All of these awful things I've listed above, they are all the SYMPTOMS of a rot in society, and that toxicity is NOT better or more faithful adherence to law and order. It is about compassion, sympathy, equality, and communication. We are all failing, NOT because one group or another is perpetrating violence, but because we are all vilifying one another and pointing fingers.

When God says "observe my commandments," we should all be thinking "Golden Rule." Treat others as you'd want to be treated. You want the benefit of the doubt? You want the situation to calm down? Then we all need to take greater personal responsibility to BE the change we want to see! The more we ignore this message, the deeper we are going to dig ourselves into this hole of disaster, chaos, and rebuke. The chaos itself is our enemy; not the person on the other side, whose proverbial pitchfork matches mine. Unless we start to see what unites us instead of what divides us, the curses will indeed proliferate without end...

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. Depositphotos
2. pikist
3. Wikimedia Commons
4. pixabay

Haftarat Noach: Noah and Isaiah Both Want You to Say It

I want to try something new. I’ve been writing this blog for eight years now, which means I’ve essentially written about each Torah portion in eight different ways. How about we mix things up a bit? Here’s what I’m thinking: 
Each parashah has an accompanying reading that does NOT come from the Torah. Many centuries ago, our rabbinic leaders assigned a parallel text to each Torah portion, called a Haftarah (which does not, by the way, mean “Half-Torah”...). The Haftarot come from the Books of the Prophets, the Books of Samuel, Kings, or some other Biblical text AFTER the Five Books of Moses. The connection between each Torah portion and its Haftarah is sometimes clear and obvious (like this week’s), and other times quite obscure and forced. Furthermore, the whole reason why we have Haftarah readings in the first place is filled with historical significance, tension, and craftiness; THAT is worth talking about in-and-of-itself!! What I’m saying is, let’s take a break for an entire year, and instead of offering a “Take on Torah,” let’s spend 5778 examining our “Take on Haftarah”! Are you in? 

I imagine you may be curious about my comments regarding the origin of the Haftarah as a concept. Well, it’s a good story, but we don’t need to reveal everything in this very first Haftarah-post, do we? We’ve got time. :-) Instead, let’s talk about 
our Torah portion, Noach. As I mentioned above, this is an easier week to see the connections between Torah and Haftarah. The rabbis offer us a reading from Isaiah to pair nicely with our story of Noah and the Flood, because Isaiah refers DIRECTLY to Noah himself in chapter 54. Speaking on God’s behalf, Isaiah writes: “For this to Me is like the waters of Noah. As I swore that the waters of Noah would never again flood the earth, so too I swear that I will not be angry with you or rebuke you.” (54:9) See what I mean? Can’t get any more straightforward than that!

The Chumash we use at Ohev Shalom, the Conservative Movement’s Etz Hayim 
actually offers us even deeper connections still. Besides the obvious mention of our parashah’s main character, the two texts have linguistic parallels as well. Both talk about a “brit,” a covenant with God, and both use a unique phrase when talking about God’s promises. In each reading, we see God promising “Lo Od,” “never again.” In one instance, God promises never to let a flood destroy the earth again, and in the other, God promises not to forsake us, the people again. Interestingly, if you put those two phrases together, yet another message emerges.

A “brit,” a covenant, goes two ways. God has rights and responsibilities, and WE have rights and responsibilities too. The “brit” applies to both parties… but so does “Lo Od.” God promises to uphold God’s end – which we can certainly debate whether we feel God has done or not – but let’s not also neglect to look back at 
ourselves and ask whether we’ve declared “Lo Od”… and meant it. When we were the oppressed outsider and then achieved social status, did we declare “Lo Od!” “Never again!” and then make sure others didn’t have to endure our agonies? When we pulled ourselves out of poverty – achieving higher education, better paying jobs, and bigger houses than our parents and grandparents – did we recall how painful it was to grow up in poverty and declare “Lo Od!”, and then help the poor and unfortunate around us? Our Haftarah reminds us that it’s not just God’s obligation, but ours too. We SHOULD declare it… and when we do, we need to mean it and live by it as well.

Photos in this blog post:

1. Image courtesy of Rabbi Gerber

2. CC image courtesy of Andreaksr on Wikimedia Commons

3. CC image courtesy of Gerd Altmann on Wikimedia Commons

4. CC image courtesy of Jonathan McIntosh on Wikimedia Commons

Ki Tavo: Mining the Curses for Hidden Blessings (guest-blog)

This week, my colleague and friend, Rabbi Kelilah Miller is guest-blogging for me. When life throws you curve balls, it's nice to know there are relief pitchers in the bullpen...

I want to thank Rabbi Gerber for inviting me to share some thoughts on the Torah portion as a guest blogger this week.  It is a special honor to be invited to guest-blog this week in particular, since it is on this coming Shabbat that Ohev Shalom will be officially welcoming Rabbi Gerber’s new son Max into the community and celebrating this new addition to the Gerber family!  Mazal Tov!

In keeping with the idea of celebrating new beginnings, this week’s Torah Portion is all about the privileges and responsibilities of (finally!) entering into the Land of Israel.  Also, in keeping with the hopes and anxieties of many parents (new and otherwise), this week’s Torah Portion contains a long litany of potential blessings and curses that await the People of Israel in the Land.

The blessings and curses of Parashat Ki Tavo are delivered in dramatic fashion, with half of the tribes of Israel shouting the blessings from one mountain and the other half of the tribes shouting the curses from another.  If the People of Israel observe God’s Covenant, they will be blessed beyond measure.  If they reject the responsibilities of the Covenant, they will suffer dire consequences.

It is interesting to note that this is not just another message that Moses delivers to the People as a “solo speech”. By having the tribes recite both the blessings and the curses, Moses forces the People to take ownership over what they are saying.  They have to own and acknowledge that they are not powerless victims of random fate or beneficiaries of blind luck.  They also have to recognize that they are not the sole masters of their fate.  Instead, they are partners with God in an effort to maximize blessing in the Land.  They are part of an integrated system of cause and effect, a web of ethical connection and Covenantal responsibility.

While perhaps not all of us subscribe to a literal understanding of God as an all-powerful (perhaps punitive) judge, we are becoming more and more aware of our interconnectedness as we confront a looming, multifaceted, and ongoing environmental crisis. As the scientific evidence piles up, it becomes clearer and clearer that we have a powerful opportunity to claim and shape our role as agents of either blessings or curses.  Just as the Children of Israel need to name the blessings and curses in this week’s Torah Portion, maybe we need to name the curses that we risk bringing upon ourselves as well as the blessings that might emerge from a community and culture that are grounded in the awe and wonder of Creation.

It just so happens that this Shabbat coincides with Interfaith Food Waste Weekend, when many religious communities are exploring the impact of food waste on our lives, on our communities,  and on the planet.  As Rabbi Gerber and I were discussing the Torah Portion this morning, he observed that the issue of food waste really encompasses both blessings and curses.  We are blessed by an abundance of food on our planet.  If we were to distribute that abundance justly and efficiently, no person would need to go hungry.  But we bring curses on ourselves when we waste the blessing of food.  And it’s not only the curse of hunger that we create through wasting food; the carbon footprint of food waste rivals that of some entire countries.  Our inefficient food systems actively contribute to the degradation of a livable planet.

But...just as blessings can be transformed into curses through carelessness or spiritual disconnection, curses can also be mined for blessings.  The precariousness of our ecological situation reveals awe-inspiring truths about our relationship to all living things and provides inspiration to act on a more powerful vision of the future.  In bearing witness to natural disasters and the injustice of hunger, we can become more keenly aware of the image of God in all people and discover commonalities that make us better allies to one another.

I hope that, as we enter into the High Holiday season, we find ways to take joy in the recognition of our partnership with God, and in the responsibilities and opportunities that go along with that relationship.

Beha'alotecha: Go Away... but Stay!

The Israelites are angry. This week, we continue reading about their travels through the wilderness on the way to the Promised Land. You might have thought that the pervasive mood in the desert would be joy, considering the slavery they left behind in Egypt. Perhaps we'd even settle for "Wow, it's hot out here!"

But no, throughout most of the stories we read about the ancient Israelites and their Exodus, they're mostly just mad. The bulk of that ire is directed at Moses and God, and it slowly begins to dawn on us, the readers, that the people simply don't want to be here. It wasn't actually their choice to leave. They begged God for relief from slavery, sure, but mass-emigration? No way! Sometimes when we're really upset, we say hurtful things, just to make others feel as bad as we do. In this case, the Israelites say the most painful and mean-spirited thing they can think of to God. And it really does hurt.

It actually boils down to just one word. In chapter 11 of the Book of Numbers, the people have had it. They are tired, hungry, frustrated, and perhaps most of all, hungry. The desert is miserable. And then, they snap: "The Israelites wept and said, 'If only we had meat to eat!

We remember the fish that we used to eat - free! - in Egypt; the cucumbers, melons, leek, onion, and garlic! Now our gullets are shriveled. There is nothing at all! Nothing but this manna to look at.'" (11:4-6) And I get it. It's rough terrain, and they weren't prepared for it. I can even accept that Egypt was (apparently) the Garden State of ancient empires; filled with glorious farmers' markets as far as the eye could see! But the real insult is the word chinam, "free." Can you imagine how utterly insulting it was for God and Moses to hear the Israelites depict Egypt as the place of freedom, juxtaposed with the SLAVERY of the desert?!?

This entire enterprise was all about rescuing the Israelites from bondage, from centuries of oppression. Yet already the people seem to have forgotten the whips, beatings, and back-breaking labor, and instead they describe Egypt as a summer camp cookout!

Needless to say, both God and Moses react with frustration, disappointment, and chastisement. But I actually want to pause the action for a second, and perhaps flip our understanding of what's going on. Change is hard. And breaking self-destructive habits can be BEYOND difficult; it can be excruciating. And our Torah portion reminds us that family, friends, mentors, and all those around us suffer along with us. We all experience this in life. From more mundane examples like training a rebellious toddler or living with a disgruntled and entitled teenager, to more extreme examples like helping someone overcome an addiction, leave an abusive relationship, or mourn a painful loss. We often reject change. We actively fight against it, and sometimes we even lash out at anyone and everyone nearby... even if they are standing so close because they are trying to help.

The Torah understands, this is painful for everyone. Heck, even GOD hits a breaking point with these defiant Israelites!! Family and friends have the power to heal us and talk us down off ledges. But they can also hurt us in ways much deeper than total strangers. And yet, we still need

to stand in that breach. The most important thing that God and Moses do is... stay. That, to me, is actually the lesson of our parashah. When done right, relationships make us vulnerable. We let people into our inner lives, and allow them to see our insecurities and idiosyncrasies. It can be really scary. But that also makes the bonds stronger, which we may need in times of trouble and sadness. The Israelites say hurtful things, because they themselves are hurting. We have to stick with them - like Moses and God do - because they're going to rebel a bunch more times before we're done reading the Torah. Instead of turning our backs or throwing our hands up, let's practice staying. It will make us feel closer to them in the long run, and will transform their story into ours. That's how relationships are formed, and that's how they endure. Stay, and you'll see what I mean.

Photos in this blogpost:
1. CC image courtesy of Stas1995 on Wikimedia Commons
2. CC image courtesy of North Market on Wikimedia Commons
3. CC image courtesy of Ser Amantio di Nicolao on Wikimedia Commons
4. CC image courtesy of Raz.sofer12 on Wikimedia Commons

Va-Eira: Caught Outside in a Hailstorm

As you can probably imagine, one of the main questions I get, as a rabbi, is about God. It's often a variation on the themes of where God is, what God is like, why do bad things happen to good people, or why doesn't God speak to us anymore? 

Just between you and me, I don't have a lot of answers to these questions. I think about them a lot myself, to be sure, but I certainly don't know THE solutions to some of humanity's greatest dilemmas. But do we really have NO sense of what God wants of us? Is it fair to say that we are totally on our own, and that God isn't speaking to us in ANY way? In reality, I think we overload our senses with work, social media, terrifying news headlines, and pretty much ANYTHING we can find, just so we don't have to listen for the still, small voice inside all of us that actually DOES know more than we'd like to admit.

I'll tell you why this came to mind this week. Our Torah portion is Va-eira, and it's the second parashah in the Book of Exodus. Moses has confronted Pharaoh about letting the Israelite slaves go free, Pharaoh has stubbornly refused, and the plagues have begun. In fact, seven of the ten plagues rain down on Egypt in our Torah reading. The seventh 

one is fiery hail that destroys land and kills cattle and people. The Torah introduces this calamity by having Moses tell Pharaoh: "order your livestock and everything you have in the open brought under shelter; every man and beast that is found outside, not having been brought indoors, shall perish when the hail comes down upon them!" (Ex. 9:19) So what do you think happened? Sure enough - "Throughout the land of Egypt, the hail struck down all that were in the open, both man and beast" (9:25). I find myself asking, who were these fools who stayed out in the open, leaving themselves vulnerable to lethal weather storms??

Remember again, this is the SEVENTH plague!! Clearly God has already demonstrated, unequivocally, the ability and intention to afflict Egypt with plagues. How is it even possible that by plague #7, there are still skeptics and doubters??? It's almost comical! And yet, of course there are. In every generation, 

and in every situation, there are always going to be people who simply REFUSE to accept facts, or who insist that they are right, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary. Today we deal with climate change deniers, gun rights activists, and people who are convinced that we've "solved" racism in America. Like the Egyptians who insisted on taking a stroll outside when the hail began to fall, many people today are too invested in the status quo. Even when the system is wholly broken and change MUST come, the prospect of giving up on long-held beliefs is simply too scary. 

We prefer to look to heaven, and ask why God hasn't "fixed" hunger, poverty, racism, and intolerance. It's easier, really. The harder truth to face is that we have all the food we need on this planet, we just don't care to allocate it better. We CAN work on all the problems that 

plague our society today, but it takes effort, sacrifice, discomfort, and probably a fair amount of pain and loss. But let's not be ancient Egyptians about this. Slavery was deeply entrenched in their society, and it was probably unfathomable to let ALL the slaves go free. But that doesn't make it ok to keep them. When we read the famous story of the Exodus, we all like to think of ourselves as the Israelites. Let's first be sure that we're not actually the oppressors, and let's be a little more vigilant to the stubborn tendencies that are tough to discard. Being an Israelite isn't a God-given right; it's a choice, and one that we must constantly be making again and again if we are to be truly free.

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of FishInWater onWikimedia Commons

2. CC image of hailstones from a Brisbane, Australia hailstorm courtesy of Craig Franklin on Wikimedia Commons

3. CC image courtesy of Matt Brown on Wikimedia Commons

4. CC image, "Slave beating in Egypt," courtesy of Artuller on Wikimedia Commons

Vayigash: Feeling Plagued by Famine and Apathy

Last week at Ohev Shalom, we celebrated the Bar Mitzvah of Spencer Schwartz. I mention this, because something that Spencer said in his D'var Torah really stuck with me, and especially the force and conviction 

with which he delivered the message. He was focusing on the story of Joseph, who interprets Pharaoh's dreams to mean that a famine is coming. Joseph also suggests that Pharaoh collect food from all Egyptians before the famine strikes, and then sell it back to them in the lean years. Spencer said this was "terrible" behavior, and chastised Joseph for being "power hungry." In light of many things going on around the world, in our community, and right outside our very doors, I would like to agree with Spencer and add yet another reason why Joseph's behavior is, indeed, terrible.

Two years ago, I wrote a blog post on this same Torah portion, Vayigash, focusing on how the land itself is a player in our story. We often talk about Joseph, Pharaoh, and God in this drama, but we don't see the planet, the physical ground as a character in the Torah as well. 

Still today, we disregard the vital role that the earth plays in determining our future, and we pretend not to see the signs all around us that climate change is a significant problem. Recently, statements issued by Pope Francis and then the summit in Paris demonstrate how world leaders are (finally!) realizing that change MUST happen. We all need to open our eyes - wide - to this issue, and we especially need to accept our own responsibility in it. This brings me back to Spencer's D'var Torah.

It isn't just that the earth is a player in our lives, it's how we interact with it as well. The plan that Joseph suggested to Pharaoh in Spencer's parashah gets implemented this week, and we see how the palace gradually takes possession of people's livestock, land, and then their autonomy. Indeed, as Spencer suggests, this is terrible. In a time of 

famine and starvation, Joseph takes advantage of the vulnerability of the people, rather than trying to help them take care of themselves. Not only that, but this attitude is actually damaging to our entire planet. In his papal letter, "Laudato Si," Pope Francis writes: "Those who possess more resources and economic or political power seem mostly to be concerned with masking the problems or concealing their symptoms." Around the world today, leaders are realizing that their inaction, apathy, and disinterest - especially regarding the environmental disasters in poorer parts of the globe - has already led to greater climate destruction. We cannot behave like Joseph, and think we won't suffer the repercussions of oppressing others. We are all interconnected, and we need to take care of our planet together.

This weekend, we will be joined at Ohev Shalom by Bill Haaf. He represents an organization called Climate Voices that seeks to bring climate scientists to communities to engage in dialogue. This will be our opportunity to bring science and religion together (what could possibly go wrong??). The data may be 

pretty bleak, but there are also many things that we can each do to take greater responsibility for our community and our world. But first, we must admit that we are Joseph in this drama. We CAN make a difference, and we CAN alter our behavior to influence those around us and even people across the nation and beyond. On the surface, we often think Joseph is just taking care of himself and his family, and we praise his behavior. But, in fact, we all need to realize that caring only for those in our closest circle is simply not enough. I hope you can come on Saturday to hear our Sustainability talk, and I hope you will take a good look at your own life and your behaviors, and make a change. Our ancient ancestors were lucky, and seven years of famine were followed by bounty yet again. Can we afford to gamble on the same being true for us? 

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of Robertsan1 onWikimedia Commons

2. CC image courtesy of Olivier LPB on Wikimedia Commons

3. CC image, "Famine in India: Natives waiting for relief in Bangalore," courtesy of Adam63 on Wikimedia Commons

4. CC image courtesy of Nigelj on Wikimedia Commons

Behar-Bechukotai: What the Leaves are Trying to Tell Us

Last week, it was 90 degrees here in Philadelphia. In early May. I'm a big fan of warm weather, and I'm definitely excited for the pools to open, the barbecues to come out, 

and the sunscreen to get slathered on; but I also can't deny that 90 degrees in May seemed excessive and early. Tropical storms in the south, drought in the west, snowfall in the north - something is clearly going on. Interestingly, our Torah portion speaks to environmentalism and climate change, and I believe it offers us some important insights into what's happening to our planet, but also our own individual role in this shifting reality.

This week's parashah includes a series of blessings and curses, God's responses to us depending on whether we observe or ignore the mitzvot, commandments, in the Torah. The second half of our reading 

begins, "If you follow My laws and faithfully observe My commandments, I will grant your rains in their season, so that the earth shall yield its produce and the trees of the field their fruit... you shall eat your fill of bread and dwell securely in your land" (Lev. 26:3-5). Conversely, if/when we choose to forsake God's stipulations, the Torah tells us "I will make your skies like iron and your earth like copper" (Lev. 26:19), which I think is a very striking image. Sandwiched between iron and copper, with no food, no rain, no soil; how would we survive? The list of curses gets pretty detailed and graphic, but an image that I also think is memorable and significant comes in chapter 26, verse 36, when it says: "The sound of a driven leaf shall put them to flight, fleeing as though from the sword." Again, an important reference to nature.

On the one hand, you can see it simply as a metaphor. The people will be so filled with terror, so psychologically destroyed and vulnerable, that the sound of rustling leaves will send them into panic and retreat. Tiny, innocent, trivial 
things will seem to them like scary monsters and goblins. But I would also argue, on the other hand, that the actual leaf itself can be a poignant symbol as well. Because a fallen leaf in the wrong season IS scary. Barren trees when they should be lush and green, that is a legitimately terrifying image. Very often, we focus on the connection between these Biblical blessings and curses and things like idolatry, Shabbat observance, and keeping Kosher. But we shouldn't miss the ecological imagery that is so deliberately chosen in these passages. Rain and fruit will turn into iron and copper - that truly IS a frightening admonition.

So where does that leave us? Time and again, the Torah tries to speak to the individual - to YOU and ME. It isn't speaking in generalities, and it isn't speaking to ancient ancestors. It applies to us today - just look around at the weather forecasts in YOUR area - and change can, and must, be affected by every individual. Even if we said, for argument's 

sake, that our fate was inevitable, and your individual contributions couldn't avert the impending disaster. Don't you still have an obligation to try? How does ANYTHING happen on a mass scale, before one, single person decides to change his or her behavior? Please take an inventory. As we might have an annual financial conversation around tax time, or an annual spiritual accounting before Yom Kippur, we should also do a personal environmental examination on a regular basis. We sometimes call it a "carbon footprint," which really just means we look at the impact we, as individuals, families, organizations, nations, have on our earth. Perhaps you can take this opportunity to sit down - maybe outside with sunglasses on and some powerful sunscreen protection - and look at what you recycle, if you compost, what lightbulbs you use, and how you run your heating and AC. 

We're only stewards of this earth; we don't own the place. And if we're going to shift our curses back to blessings, and prosper together with our planet, we need to pay a little more attention to the sound of the rustling leaves. 

Photos in this blog post:
1. CC image courtesy of Stevekc on Wikimedia Commons
2. CC image courtesy of JaneArt on Wikimedia Commons
3. CC image courtesy of Alex Proimos on Wikimedia Commons
4. CC image courtesy of Notnarayan on Wikimedia Commons