Terumah: (De)Constructing Holiness

Recently, I received an absolutely wonderful gift. I imagine that, by now, many of you have heard me talk about our Lostice Torah scroll, which survived the Holocaust, as well as the Lostice Megillah which tells the story of that scroll. Well, a member of the congregation, Craig Shor, worked together with a fabulous artist/carpenter who has created MANY amazing things already for our community (but who doesn’t like when I mention his name…), and they made a box in which to keep our Megillah. You can see it in the pictures associated with this post. I think it looks truly spectacular, and houses (and protects) our precious Megillah marvelously well. It also reminds me a lot of this week’s Torah portion, and the notion of what makes something special, valuable, and even holy. 

Our parashah is called Terumah, and it begins a rather monotonous part of the Biblical text. God gives lengthy and meticulous building instructions, and commands the Israelites to construct a portable Sanctuary to carry with them throughout the desert, known as the Mishkan, or Tabernacle. Skimming through these blueprints, I find myself wondering: Why does God need all of this? Offering sacrifices previously was done in the open, perhaps on a rock; wasn’t that good enough? And especially when they’re wandering in the wilderness for 40 years, wouldn’t this be an *excellent* time for informal, nature-based worship, rather than constructing heavy, ornately decorated ritual objects that they now have to shlep everywhere they go?? God seems to have become awfully materialistic...

But maybe we're coming at this all wrong. The Israelites' time in the desert probably felt quite structure-less on its own, and perhaps even chaotic. Maybe that is exactly where and why they need something created by people - by themselves even! - to distinguish it from their desert reality. When we look at it that way, we may also understand better why the instructions are *so* precise, intricate, and detailed. The more effort the people put into this project, the more meaningful and unique it would feel to them. The text commands them to build an ark of acacia wood (Ex. 25:10-22), a ceremonial table (vv. 18-30, and a lampstand - a menorah - made out of gold, with decorations and flourishes all around it (vv. 25:31-40). And the Torah's just getting warmed up! Then there are curtains, cloths, planks, bars, posts, hooks, utensils, and an altar. Which each new item, and each explicit command, the people pour their hearts, souls, effort, time, and talent into this project... and the Tabernacle becomes more and more holy and invaluable to them. It isn't for God; the Mishkan is for the people.

Which brings me back to the box that these two men built for us. We certainly *could* have kept the Megillah in something much more generic and simple. We could even have splurged and bought something ornate, glitzy, and expensive. But what I truly love about this particular box is that it was hand-crafted, FOR this scroll specifically, and with our community in mind. When you look at it up close, you can also see the time and effort that went into each component. Several types of wood were attached to one another to create a beautiful pattern. Each screw is hidden by a wooden dowel, sanded down perfectly smooth. It is lined with felt, and the top is attached with a unique hinge; both of which were carefully selected for just this box. It is really just beautiful! And when I look at it juxtaposed with our text about the Tabernacle, I see how holiness is literally constructed. Piece by piece, minute after minute, and talent heaped upon talent; it all combines to transform something mundane into a ritual and spiritual artifact. What a wonderful hands-on lesson about creating holiness!

Images in this blog post show the new box for our Lostice Megillah. Many thanks, again, to Craig and D** for constructing it!

Rosh Hashanah 5782 (2021) - Second Day Sermon

RH2 5782 - Main Sermon

Shanah Tovah! 

I wonder if some people in the congregation were surprised when they first heard that our Scroll of Resilience, written about the miraculous journey of our Holocaust Scroll from the town of Lostice in Czechoslovakia to Wallingford, PA, was called “MEGILLAT Lostice”? Why Megillah? Isn’t there already another book called “The Megillah” And don’t we have expressions like “the whole Megillah,” meaning “everything,” that would make it particularly ironic to then write a totally *separate* Megillah? I said people were perhaps surprised, but maybe they - or you - were more accurately confused… and maybe a little suspicious.

Who writes a new Megillah anyway? Is that even allowed?? Ok, so allow me to explain. First of all, the word “Megillah” just means “scroll,” and there are officially five Megillot in the Tanach, the Jewish Bible: Ecclesiastes, Song of Songs, Ruth, Lamentations, and - most familiarly - the Book of Esther. Esther is of course the one that has come to be known as THE Megillah, which we read aloud on Purim and boo every time we hear Haman’s name. However, there is yet another Jewish concept, mainly established in the Middle Ages, that involves repurposing the word “Megillah.” And that is going to be the focus of my sermon here this morning. 

Going back as far as the 2nd century of the common era, we have historical examples of authors writing OTHER Megillot. The first such example is Megillat Antiochus a.k.a. Megillat Hashmonai, which was written to commemorate the story of Chanukah. Italian and Yemenite Jewish communities would read the scroll aloud - almost exactly as we do with Megillat Esther on Purim - for centuries… even some still do to this day! 

Subsequent to that, there are actually an impressive number of accounts - over the course of centuries and ALL around the world - of Jewish communities writing much more unique and unexpected forms of Megillot. The formula essentially goes like this: The Jewish community of a town or city is threatened with major violence, a conspiracy or plot, a natural disaster, or some other calamity. Miraculously, the crisis is averted, or at least mitigated, and in celebration of their survival, the rabbi or leader of the community would write or commission a scroll as a record of their salvation.

A few quick examples: The Purim of Narbonne, France, from 1236, involved the averting of a deadly riot. Purim Saragossa, Spain, 1380, the Jews were able to disprove slanderous accusations against them. Purim Cairo, Egypt, 1524, kidnapped Jews were released. Purim de Los Lodrones (Purim of the Bandits), Gumeldjina, Ottoman Empire, 1786, accusations of disloyalty. Purim Burghul, Tripoli, Libya, 1795, an anti-Semitic reign of terror abruptly ended. Others took place in Hebron and Tiberias in Israel, and still more commemorated communities surviving earthquakes, fires, and of course, the infamous blood libels of having killed Christian children. Additionally, there was a whole tradition of Family Purim celebrations, where a wealthy or revered community member would write a Megillah of his (not shockingly, these were all men…) escape from prison or other averted calamities. There are records from the 1600s and 1700s, from Poland, Czechoslovakia, and Bohemia, of several such family Purim celebrations.

It’s almost intriguing how common these were, for us to then have so little awareness of them today! What captured my interest and fascination about these communal and personal holidays, was how much they personalized the Jewish experience. As rabbis and educators, we work hard to try and make Judaism feel relevant and current, to show how our Tradition doesn’t just speak of ancient matters, but addresses what each of us is going through right now, today. These private Purims, with their individual Megillot, demonstrate how one can - even now! - use the vehicle of Judaism, the practices, trappings, and traditions of millennia of our ancestors, and channel them into something deeply personal, current, and meaningful. 

As you can probably tell, I’m a big fan of this practice. I never had a chance to implement it myself… until I learned the incredible story of our Holocaust Scroll, and how it was transported from Lostice to Prague to London to Wallingford, in a series of incredible stages along a most improbable journey. Now, there is a very serious pitfall that we risk falling into. Some of you might be teetering on the edge already. Yes, I told you about an interesting and unfamiliar Jewish practice of ritualizing personal history… but you may have gotten stuck on my rattling off riots, pogroms, kidnapping, blood libels, slander, and violent persecution after violent persecution. How depressing! 

But I want to strongly emphasize that it is a pitfall, a hurdle, a stumbling block, and even a distraction. You may know by now that my theme for this year’s High Holiday sermons is “resilience.” And what I’m about to say is going to be a central message of mine regarding building resilience in the face of all that has befallen us, both over the centuries as Jews… and even in the last couple of years, enduring the pandemic and climate change. We COULD focus on the very upsetting aspects of either our history or our current predicaments… or we can choose to celebrate our perseverance and endurance.

It isn’t just me saying this, by the way. I take my inspiration from perhaps the preeminent Jewish historian of the 20th century, Salo Baron. In 1963, Baron published a paper entitled “Newer Emphases in Jewish History,” where he presented what became known as his “Lachrymose Conception of Jewish History.” Lachrymose, meaning tearful or mournful. Baron’s contention is also the primary message of my sermon to you here today: “Jewish history is not to be seen simply as a series of persecutions, which determined its nature and its course, but rather as a process of ongoing engagement between the Jews and their surroundings.” In other words, when we look at our history and see all that we endured and survived, let’s actually talk about and praise how we endured and survived!

Let’s apply this notion to our Holocaust Scroll. 1,500 Torahs were saved from Czechoslovakia; the majority of which now live in Jewish communities around the world. Why are we calling them “Holocaust Scrolls”? Yes, of course, it’s because of what they were subjected to, and the main reason why they now live OUTSIDE the Czech Republic. But we are doing a great disservice to our history and ourselves, when we permit our hearts and minds to descend into this lachrymose conception. We are defining the scrolls by the worst thing that ever happened to them, and to their original owners.

We do this to Jewish history a lot! If I reference the Jewish communities of Europe around the year 1000 or 1100, you might envision how they were decimated by the crusades. Spain in the 1400s, you likely think of Inquisition and Expulsion. I say Russian Jews in the 1800s, pogroms. And of course, German Jews, murdered by Nazis. 

Now, of course we ALSO need to know our history of woe and oppression. We must study it, and then educate our children as well as our neighbors, so that we may learn from our history and not doom ourselves - and everyone around us - to repeat it. But too often that is ALL we learn. It is all we know. Yesterday I told you about the definition of resilience and how to fortify it, from the website of the APA, the American Psychological Association. The APA offered four tools for building up our internal resilience. Yesterday we spoke about connection and being part of a community. Today, we add the idea of Healthy Thinking. The APA states: “keep things in perspective…Accept that change is a part of life… maintain a hopeful outlook… and learn from your past.”

So much of this is absolutely essential for us; both in everyday life and when examining Jewish history. We should 100% learn about and from our past… AND we also need to keep the tragedies firmly in perspective, accept that change is and always will be a part of life, and as fervently and stubbornly as possible, insist on maintaining  at least SOME hopefulness in our outlook on everything. Let us keep both Baron’s directive against the Lachrymose Conception AND the APA’s vital recommendations about Healthy Thinking in mind as we return to our Lostice Megillah. 

This is hard, because the second chapter of the Megillah is indeed about the Holocaust. It is the darkest of the four chapters, as it describes the transporting away of all of the Lostice Jews to Theresienstadt, where nearly all of them were murdered… or shipped along elsewhere to their eventual deaths. Furthermore, the Nazis looted these communities, stealing just about anything they could get their hands on. It is an upsetting story, albeit sadly a familiar one. But even in this second chapter, I have chosen to emphasize the Jews of Prague who preserved and protected 1,800 scrolls, of which 1,500 were later rescued. And the artwork for Chapter Two reflects Siona Benjamin’s and my insistence on maintaining a  hopeful outlook… even in chapter two. 

The backdrop of the painting is the gate and barbed-wire-lined brick walls of Theresienstadt. It looks almost like an evil face, meant to consume and annihilate all who enter. But in this picture, the gates are on fire. Their sinister intentions are already being thwarted. And out of the mouth of these nightmarish gates, the stolen Jewish artifacts are bursting towards freedom. Nothing was supposed to EVER escape the concentration camps, but the Jewish spirit was NOT obliterated. The very same artifacts confiscated by the Nazis became damning proof of their crimes. Here, the items depicted are a pocket watch, rings, Torah finery, scrolls, personal Judaica items, a yellow star that says Jude on it, and a large menorah that Siona found in a very powerful photograph. In it, a beautiful menorah had been mangled, twisted, and deformed by fire and war… but it was unmistakably still a menorah. It is the central item in Siona’s captivating painting… and it has been lit again. 

It was also critical to me that along with these items, we also see light bursting forth. I mentioned yesterday, a source of light, glowing and indestructible, can be found in each painting, and it is perhaps most prominent in this one, as the immortal, RESILIENT spirit of our people pours out of the Nazi clutches. At the bottom of the painting, you see the Michle synagogue in Prague, where the scrolls were housed for decades. The building itself is on a slanted angle, seemingly close to collapsing into ruin. But it doesn’t fall. Like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, it bends but does NOT break. Like the Jewish spirit, it too bends - sometimes incredibly far over - but does not break. 

We have endured a lot. From Biblical times fighting Amalekites and Canaanites, to the Babylonians, Greeks, Romans, Ottomans, crusaders, inquisitors, Cossacks, and Nazis over the course of millennia. And we all know that fight is not over. Yet here we are. Not only have we persevered, but we have written about our survival and continued to read it to one another, generation after generation, Dor l’Dor va’dor. It CAN be depressing, I know. It is exhausting, disheartening, and frightening. 

But it is ALSO a story of an unbreakable spirit. Of a people that has endured everything imaginable, but through applying the principles of learning from our past, maintaining a constant sense of perspective, and stubbornly, even seemingly foolishly holding onto a hopeful outlook that redemption would come and God was on our side… we survived. For nearly two millennia, Jews have not just told and retold the old stories of resilience; they have added their own as well. This year, we submit our story to that canon. We remember what we’ve lost, but we refuse to remain lachrymose. Instead, we celebrate… and our light continues to burst forth. 

Shanah Tovah!

Guest blog! Tisha b’Av: We are still here.

This week, I am THRILLED to share with you a D’var Torah that my mother, Debbie, shared with her Executive Board of Women’s League. My mom is a Jewish educator with over half a century of teaching experience. She is also an active member of her synagogue in central New Jersey, and serves (or has served) on countless boards and committees in all aspects of Jewish life. And, quite frankly, I’m a bit embarrassed that I haven’t invited her to guest blog for me sooner! 

Enjoy!!

The Jewish calendar is filled with wonderful joyous holidays and days when we remember some of our victories in Jewish history. But it also has sad and mournful days when we recall some of the terrible moments in our past. One of those sad days is coming up this week – on Sunday. It will be Tisha B’Av- the 9^th day of Av. This is a day to remind us of many of the worst dates in Jewish history which all happened on or close to the 9^th of Av. 

Some of the major ones are: 

- In the second year after the Exodus from Egypt, the Israelites listened to the spies and refused to go into the Land of Israel. Their cowardice and lack of faith led them to spend a full 40 years wandering in the desert. 

- Many of you may know that in the year 586 BCE the First Temple was destroyed by the Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar and the Second Temple by the Roman Emperor Titus in 70 CE; both on or near this date. 

- Another lesser known event was the Edict of Expulsion of the Jews from England which was signed by King Edward I in 1290 around this date. 

- The beginning of the Inquisition in Spain - where King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella expelled 100,000 Jews and forced them to board ships to leave Spain -happened also on the 9^th of Av. 

So we recall these awful incidents by fasting and not drinking for a full day in the middle of the heat of summer. But in the calendar we have actually been building up to remember these terrible events for several weeks. Three weeks prior to Tisha B’Av, we don’t schedule weddings or musical celebrations, we avoid getting haircuts, and we do not buy new clothes. The nine days before the fast day are a more intensive period, beginning on the 1^st day of Av, where the custom is to stop eating meat and drinking wine. 

Then, on the fast day itself, there are special customs that more intensely show that we are in mourning:

- The meal before the fast is a simple one including boiled eggs and lentils- foods often eaten in a house of mourning. 

- We shouldn't bathe or use any skin oils or creams

- lovemaking is prohibited on this day.  

- When arriving at the synagogue, people don’t greet one another as they usually do when they come to a service.  

- In the synagogue, shoes are not worn, and we sit on the floor or low benches with the lights turned down low, or often just with candles burning to provide dimmed lighting. 

- The book of Lamentations - Eicha - is chanted in a low voice using a special plaintive melody. - - The ark is sometimes draped in black shrouds and the Sifrei Torah are also covered in black cloths.  

The rabbis of the Talmud also said that there was a strong connection between Tisha B’Av and our duty to others. The First Temple was destroyed, they say, as a punishment, but the Second was destroyed because of causeless hatred. People need to learn to treat each other with love and respect. WE all need to work together - B’yachad - to make this world a better place. 

We cannot understand why the terrible things we remember on Tisha B’Av happened – nor why God let them happen. We can not understand why bad things happen to us or our families in general, but as we look back - particularly as we get older - over the history of our people, something becomes clear: We may not be able to find a reason for everything that has happened to us in our past, but Jews have been able to find a lesson in almost everything that happens, and it has helped us become better people. We Jews are still here and we need to work B’yachad, together, to preserve our people and our heritage.

So, what lessons does this fast day have for us? In his book, When a Jew Celebrates, Harry Gersh writes: “The cycle of sorrow and comfort, pain and joy reminds us once again that life is precious and must go on. We remember and we mourn but not for too long. After the mourning we return to our lives once again.” The whole Jewish calendar - the whole Jewish sense of time - is a series of lessons about appreciating life and where we’ve been, while also recognizing and being thankful that we are still here… and, God willing, we will continue to be here for many generations to come. 

Ark Curtain & Table Cover Descriptions

Ohev Shalom Ark Curtain and Table Cover

Introduction

In 2016, our congregation completed a large mosaic art project in the Main Sanctuary. The side walls of this cavernous prayer space now feature mosaic panels, each representing one of the ancient Twelve Tribes of Israel. Two additional panels were also crafted, one symbolizing the Levitical priests that served in the Temple in Jerusalem, and one in honor of our patriarch, Jacob’s lone daughter, Dina. But something was missing.

In the Bible, Jacob allots a double-portion to one of his children, Joseph. Joseph’s two sons, Ephraim and Menashe, thus each become tribes of Israel, yet as a result, Joseph’s name doesn’t endure among the Israelite clans! Worse still, Joseph was not included in our mosaic project. Furthermore, our Main Sanctuary Ark curtain, a solid grey color, no longer matched the vivid, evocative imagery of the room. A change was needed.

Three years later, a well-known artist, Siona Benjamin, came to Ohev Shalom for a weekend-long artist-in-residence program. Towards the end of the weekend, Rabbi Gerber and Ms. Benjamin began discussing the possibility of a collaboration on an art installation that would add color to the Ark, finally bring Joseph into our “visual story,” and also leave the impression of Siona Benjamin’s incredible artistry on our congregation.

In September, 2020, just before the Jewish High Holidays, a new Ark curtain was installed, together with a table cover for the central prayer table; both crafted by Siona Benjamin. The following is a description of some of the imagery and symbolism captured within each of these two phenomenal new ritual objects (as told by Rabbi Gerber):

Ark Curtain (Parochet)

To begin with, Siona and I focused on the Biblical character of Joseph. A well-known image associated with him is the coat of many colors, gifted to him by his father, Jacob (Gen. 37:3). I liked using this as the main depiction, due to its many layers of meaning: It represents Joseph’s youth, the love of his father, but also the bitter jealousy of his brothers, and the very object that those same siblings would bring back to Jacob (drenched in lamb’s blood) to falsely claim he had been killed. Later, when Joseph became the grand-vizier of Egypt, he would again be wearing beautifully adorned clothing, this time, however, infused with genuine power… yet also deeper humility and wisdom after all he had been through.

Joseph himself is a complex character, first immature, bratty, and also naive, while later clever and plotting, yet benevolent. To represent this, the Ark curtain is a layered image. The outline is a coat, but then a tree is hiding within it, and a cup is hidden inside that, a bird lurks deeper still, and various other veiled symbols are embedded even further. 

Here are some of the images specifically related to Joseph’s story:

• The goblet inside the coat represents two important cups in Joseph’s life. First, he interprets a dream for Pharaoh’s cupbearer (chapter 40), who then eventually remembers Joseph’s assistance and tells Pharaoh. Later, when Joseph forms an elaborate plan to punish his brothers (or perhaps test their loyalty…), he hides his own chalice in his brother, Benjamin’s bag (44:2), in order to ensnare them. Both vessels changed the course of Joseph’s life.

• Along the top of the Ark curtain are the sun, the moon, and eleven stars. These represent Joseph’s dream in his youth, about how his parents and brothers would one day bow down to him (37:9).

• Hidden throughout the curtain are seven ears of grain and seven spectral cows, harkening back to Pharaoh’s “uninterpretable” dreams (41:2-7). 

In addition, there are symbols representing God and Torah writ large:

• The Hebrew letter “shin” - ש - is often used to represent God (through one of God’s names “Shaddai”), e.g. on the tefillin and on the mezuzah. In the rays of the sun on the curtain one might notice several instances of the letter shin. Additional shins emanate from the tree inside the coat as well. This symbolizes God’s Presence, sometimes evident and discernible, other times imperceptible and ephemeral. 

• The budding tree is a symbol of our Torah, as described in Proverbs, 3:18: “It is a tree of life to all who grasp onto it.” In Siona Benjamin’s stunning depiction, the tree sprouts beyond the bounds of the coat, even though it is meant to be part of its “design.” This symbolizes how the teachings of our Tradition cannot stay on the page, but rather insist on “breaking out” of their bounds, to impact our lives and our world… even to this day.

• There is also a Star of David in the lower left corner, but it appears, perhaps, to be spinning and radiating color! This is meant to evoke an ancient rabbinic teaching from Pirkei Avot, the Ethics of Our Ancestors: “Turn it and turn it, for everything is in it” (5:22). This is a reminder that, whether it be art or religion, its potential for interpretation and meaning-making is limitless!

• The Torah is also sometimes depicted as water, nourishing and refreshing us. Water features prominently on the Ark curtain, both with the flowing waves along the bottom (a signature of Siona Benjamin’s beautiful artwork), as well as the cascading waterfall behind the tree. The colors of the waterfall may also evoke the stripes of a tallit. 

• Just above the spinning star, one can also spot a bird’s head, peeking out from behind the tree. The bird is holding an olive branch, which is both a well-known symbol of peace, and a nod to the name of our beloved congregation, Ohev Shalom, “Lover of Peace.”

Table (Amud) Cover

Accompanying the Ark curtain is a new cover for our reader’s table, also called the Amud. This cover features two distinct sides; one visible to anyone standing and looking out at the congregation, and a second one, displayed for the congregation to enjoy from the pews. Each side has meaning, and each is also connected back to the Ark curtain:

Table Side:

When standing at the Amud, one looks down at branches sprouting out from a central point. These are meant to be extensions of the branches from the Ark curtain, as if to say that the Teaching found within the Ark extends out to the table, and then spreads yet further out to the congregation. It is also important to note that the observer is standing between the two artistic renderings; a reminder that we, the congregants, are a necessary partner in the dissemination of our heritage. Without us, it cannot emerge from the Ark or be read from the table!

The branches of the tree on the Amud grow out into seven distinct “buds” that are also flames. Indeed, these shoots form a Menorah. The Menorah is an important Jewish ritual object and symbol. In addition, this same combination of tree/candelabra already existed in Ohev’s Main Sanctuary, in the form of a sculpture from the 1960s. The table cover thus offers an homage to Ohev Shalom’s vibrant history. 

Interestingly, when I shared these descriptions on Facebook, a clergy colleague of mine pointed out how the tree/Menorah combo, at least in this particular instance, also greatly resembles the Burning Bush (Exodus 3:2)! As one of the Torah’s first tangible symbols of God’s Presence, it is wonderfully fitting to depict this on our Reader’s Table… and I love that new interpretations are already emerging.

Painted water drops “trickle down” along the table cover, further representing how our Torah sustains us. In the center of this sprinkling, one can also see the word “Mayim” (מיים), which is the Hebrew word for “water.” It is, however, misspelled… sort of. Mayim is more often spelled with just one “yud” (מים). Using two “yud’s” adds two important Midrashim (commentary/interpretations): It now resembles the word “Chayim” (חיים), meaning “life,” reminding us yet again of the eternal value of our heritage, and also the enduring spirit of the Jewish people. Second, in numerology, the letters of “Mayim” using this spelling produce the number 100 (40+10+10+40), meant as a celebration of Ohev Shalom’s Centennial, during which these objects were dedicated.

One final note: Behind the branches of the Menorah, one can see the same shadings of deep blue and bright yellow, paralleling the colors behind the coat on the curtain. 

Congregation Side:

The image facing the congregation continues the theme of the rippling waves from the Ark curtain. It is also the end-point of the drops of water that began in the curtain’s waterfall, then “splashed” onto the table cover, and now “spill” down further still. However, it is actually not an ending at all! The edge of the cloth has beautiful beads hanging down, as if to depict the drops of water emerging from the textile and become three-dimensional. Like the tree on the Ark curtain, this symbolizes how our heritage cannot remain on the parchment or in a book; it needs to pour forth, and water our day-to-day lives as well. 

The central image on this side of the artwork is a blue lotus flower. It may evoke a connection to the Ner Tamid, the Eternal Light, located in a straight line above/behind the table. The light of the Ner Tamid, in a sense, becomes a flower that opens up and spreads beauty and joy all around. The lotus is also a representation of our incredible artist, Siona Benjamin, and her heritage as an Indian Jew. Despite growing up Jewish, she sometimes felt excluded from the “normative” Jewish community, especially in America. It reminds us of the centrality of diversity, unity, openness, and inclusion. All are welcome here, and all are part of our community!

(Updated 09-16-20)

B'Midbar: Remember when...?

Memory is SUCH a powerful tool. I think we all know that, but - ironically - sometimes we forget. It bears repeating, much like the memories themselves, because especially in times of turmoil, chaos, and uncertainty, memory can help us

get by. Maybe one of the reasons we forget, or just don't like to think about it, is because memories can also be painful. Right now, as most of us continue to endure lockdown and quarantine, talking about our social lives pre-virus, or sharing funny stories about things we did only months ago, can really hurt. It feels bitter to focus on what we had, what we did, and who we were... yet, conversely, it can also help give us hope, motivation, and resilience. This concept converges for me, this week, in the intersecting of our Torah portion, Memorial Day, and a special Shabbat celebration that I'm still gonna try and pull off.

Memorial Day is a particularly good example of this, right? We talk about people we have lost, who were often cut down before their prime, and/or whose service to our
nation sometimes seems tragically forgotten. So even if it hurts to focus on them, shedding tears and talking about their serving in uniform for all our safety DOES indeed honor their memory. More than just recalling, it may also help us pursue peace today, take better care of our current military veterans, or imagine a better future for the next generation(s). Every year, at Ohev Shalom, we hold a lovely Memorial Day service at our own synagogue cemetery. This year, most of the participants will be joining online, over zoom. But the service WILL take place, and a few individuals handling logistics will STILL be at the cemetery. We do this because the service is important, its meaning remains vital, and even just the value of repetition and continuity, of holding the annual service no matter what, has immeasurable power and purpose. If you'd like to call in, our Memorial Day service will take place on Monday, May 25th, at 11:00 a.m.

It doesn't always work out this way, but in 2020, Memorial Day Weekend lines up with the Torah portion of B'Midbar, the beginning of the fourth Book of the Torah (also called B'Midbar, or "Numbers" in English). Having spent the whole third Book
camped at Mount Sinai, learning about a gazillion laws, the Israelites now restart their journey through the desert. As they shake off the dust, stretch their legs, and prepare to march, the Torah tells us, "The Israelites shall camp each with their standard, under the banners of their ancestral house..." (Num. 2:2) An ancient rabbinic text, called Midrash Rabbah, asks a logical question here: What did those "standards" or "banners" for each tribe look like?? Like our favorite sports team today (well, a few months ago anyway...), did each of the twelve tribes have a different color scheme, logo, and symbol printed on all their desert paraphernalia???

The author of Midrash Rabbah attempted to answer that question by assigning a different symbol to each tribe, using various references and reasoning for each. In 2015, our synagogue, Ohev Shalom, created a set of beautiful, artistic mosaics, that now adorn the walls of our Main Sanctuary.

And because the images on each mosaic were chosen from THIS text, based on THIS Torah portion, I decided to make parashat B'Midbar our annual Shabbat Shevatim, the Shabbat of the Tribes. If you participated in the art project, please join on Saturday morning and share something about your experience. Or if you just want to know HOW people participated and what it was all about, come join for that as well. I do want to also note that we may feel a twinge of pain and lament, remembering how well-over 100 people joined to get their hands dirty and make these works of art. No social distancing back then! But memory is truly essential. It reminds us what community is all about, what we're striving to get back to, and how great it will be when we can sit together once more, and enjoy the artwork - and each other - (please God) someday soon.


CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. Billy Hathorn on Wikipedia
2. Ohev Shalom's Memorial Day service, 2013
3. Feedback on Wikimedia Commons
4. mosaics

Behar-Bechukotai: Don't Shoot, Stone, or Sting the Messenger!

Hey there. It's me again, Rabbi Gerber. So, um, thanks for coming back to my blog. Great to have you here. I imagine you've returned to hear something uplifting, maybe inspiring, or at least something to get your mind off the coronavirus epidemic??? Ha, ha! So... funny story. Um... about that... Ok, ok, I'm gonna stop beating around the bush here, and be forthcoming

with you: This Torah portion isn't pretty, folks. And I don't mean gross or ethically problematic or theologically upsetting. No, this one is going to hit home. I need to say something that is going to sound a little prophetic, and not in the form of cool-predictions-about-the-future or awesome-conjuring-of-divine-miracles. No, the yelling-at-us-all-for-destroying-our-planet-and-ignoring-all-the-warning-signs kind of way. Friends, it's bad. I don't like being the bearer of scary news. But I also can't shy away from what I see as my obligation, which is to hold up the text and say, "SEE?!?!? It's right here!! Why is it so hard for us - for ALL of us - to listen?!?!?!?!" So, I guess, if you really don't wanna hear angry-preachy Rabbi Gerber, this is probably a good time to stop reading. Oh, and if you DO read on, please don't shoot (or otherwise attack) the messenger, ok??? Oy. Here goes:

Our parashah this week includes a section called the "Tochechah," meaning "The Rebuke." Mildly put, it's the "Hey, dummies, listen up!!" portion of the Biblical narrative. The Torah isn't pulling any punches here. God begins by saying "if you do NOT obey Me and do NOT observe these commandments..." and then goes on to 

list punishments we can expect. And yeah, you guessed it, we're living through soooooo many of them right now. We can't ignore this any longer. The very first repercussion for misbehavior listed is, "then I will do this to you: I will visit you with panic, with wasting disease and fever that consume the eyes and make the heart ache" (Lev. 26:16). A little on-the-nose, wouldn't you say?? I'm almost surprised Leviticus didn't just come out and say: "I'm referring, of course, to the coronavirus in the year 2020." If that didn't hit close enough to home for you, verse 19 states that "[God] will break down your stubborn pride and make your sky like iron and your land like bronze." So we've got the infuriatingly misguided stubbornness of the conspiracy theorists, AND we've got the sky refusing to yield rain, causing drought... check, as well as the ground encased in a concrete-like substance (bronze) that causes destruction... check.

PEOPLE!! We have to see this. We have to look squarely at all these things. They are terrifying, yes. But this is not "someone else's" problem, and it's not a "sometime down the road" problem. It's right here, right now, right in front of our mask-covered-faces! Verse 22 mentions 

wild animals destroying our planet - murder hornets, anyone?? And just to REALLY gild the lily (but with fear...), verse 25 adds, "and if you withdraw into your cities, I will send pestilence among you," which sounds unsettlingly like quarantine and stay-at-home orders. But here's the most important thing I want to emphasize: Our Torah portion restates FOUR TIMES, that all these things will happen - and continue to happen - if we refuse to listen, reject the tough remedies, insist on making excuses, and scoff at the data. None of this is going to be easy. This is painful for EVERYONE. But turning a blind eye to the realities (and the facts) in front of us is making things infinitely worse. Or, to borrow the parashah's phrase: "sevenfold" worse...

Do I have answers? No, I do not. But I'm ready to face the excruciating, tragic, life-altering truths that are so obviously playing out before our eyes. I'd offer to hold your hand to comfort you... but we both know I can't get closer than six feet, and not without a face mask or gloves! Again, I don't have the solution. But let's stop 

talking about "returning to normal" or "getting back to the way things were." We need to reevaluate what it means for some (often mistreated) members of society to be called "essential workers." If they're essential to us, shouldn't they be valued better??? We have to reexamine our treatment of the earth, our use of cars, planes, and fossil fuels, and so very many things that used to be commonplace and utterly taken for granted. It must end here; it has to stop now. HOWEVER, despite all the horrific things we read in the Tochechah (Rebuke), the Torah is actually still NOT saying it's inevitable, unavoidable, or irreversible. We are not powerless. But God isn't going to change. The hornets won't turn around; the earth being suffocated by concrete can't speak up for itself; and this virus doesn't care about its toll on our economy. WE need to change. WE need to stop ignoring the deafening sound of alarm bells, which, by the way, is getting louder and louder... 

I told you this wasn't gonna be a "fun" blog post. It gives me no pleasure to say any of this, and I don't feel all that excited or mighty, positioning myself as a prophetic voice. But we need to listen. I do too. Because this already hurts... a lot. Let's get rid of the "stubborn pride" at least, and then take it one step at a time from there...

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:

1. seton.com

2. wallpaperflare.com

3. Andrea Piacquadio on pexels.com

4. pikist.com

Emor: What's in a Name? (repost from 2016)

While this blog post is from 2016, we ARE actually planning to do another visit to the cemetery in 2020... albeit virtually! If you would like to join our Hebrew School students, to learn about the Ohev Cemetery, about how we create (and decipher) inscriptions on grave markers, and about the burial of books/documents with God's Name on it, please see below for updated info IN RED on the 2020 edition of this event...

A couple of months ago, I wrote a blog post about God's Name. It was sort of a rant, mainly around how much I dislike the use of "G-d" when writing God's Name in English. If you haven't already read that post (and would like to), you can find it here.

One lingering question that I never really answered, and which I think deserves at least SOME consideration is, "Why does it matter?" What are the long-term ramifications of writing "G-d" versus "God," and who, honestly, cares? I wanted to return to this question now, because next week (update for 2020: in a few weeks) we are engaging in another important Jewish ceremony here at Ohev Shalom. It is a ritual that is entirely pointless if we cannot answer the question, "Why does it matter?" And I also believe that having a sufficient and meaningful answer to this query has a lasting impact on so many other things that we do in our day-to-day lives.

This week, our Torah portion is Emor, and we read in Emor a familiar statement from God: "You shall not profane My holy Name, that I may be sanctified in the midst of the Israelite people - I, the Lord, who sanctify you." (Leviticus, 22:32). In fact, at least six times in Leviticus - from chapters 18 to 22 - we are instructed not to defile, desecrate, or simply disrespect the Name of God. Back in March,

when I wrote about God's Name, I referenced the Ten Commandments, which also talk about not taking Adonai's Name in vain, but the reality is that it is a common trope throughout the Bible: Stop misusing God's holy Name!!! But if these laws and regulations AREN'T talking about using "G-d" (and I promise you, they are NOT), what are they asking us to do? What does it mean to disrespect God's Name, and how can we avoid doing so? One of the rules that the rabbis created, based on this concept, is the importance of treating sacred books, that contain God's Name, with respect and dignity. And yet, try as we might to take good care of holy books like Siddurim and Chumashim, sometimes they just get worn out. What then?

Well, next week (update for 2020: in June), we are inviting children from our religious school, AND any interested adults who would like to participate, to come to our Ohev cemetery in Brookhaven, PA, and help us bury sacred books that can no longer

be used. In Judaism, we honor God's Name in writing by not throwing away any text that includes that Name, and instead burying it at a Jewish cemetery. This also includes every single sheet of paper that has "Adonai" or "Elohim" written on it, whether handwritten, Xeroxed, or printed out, and it is further extended to all old tallitot (or talises), to sets of tefillin, and honestly anything that is a sacred, Jewish object. I am inviting you to join us, to bring any Hebrew prayer books or Judaica items, on Wednesday afternoon, May 25th, 2016, at 5:00 p.m., (update for 2020: Wednesday, June 3rd, at 4:30 p.m.) and together we will honor God's Name in a way that our Jewish ancestors have done for thousands of years.

And yet, I feel we must also return to our original question: "Why?" Why are we doing this? Why does it matter? Well, I can definitely tell you that I'm NOT doing it for fear of angering God. My theology doesn't work that way. We aren't doing this to appease or placate some ill-tempered deity who might otherwise smite us all for our insolence. No, I believe it's about you and me, right here back on earth. The way we show respect for someone or some-thing says A LOT about us.

Respecting God and God's Name is actually about respecting ourselves; showing sensitivity, humility, and appreciation for something outside of our own internal narratives. We otherwise get terribly caught up in our own needs. You may ask, "Why care so much about God's Name, a four-letter scratch on a printed piece of paper?" Well, you have to believe in something, don't you? Some concept, value, or ethic outside your own echo chamber? So much of the violence and devastation we see in the world comes from a lack of humility; people who care only about themselves and their own needs. Honoring God's Name is about saying there's more to this world than just me and my immediate needs. Our ceremony on Wednesday (update for 2020: on June 3rd) may look like it's focusing on death, but to me, it's actually a symbol of how much our religion is full of respect, sensitivity, mindfulness, and life. I hope to see you there! (update for 2020: I still hope to see you there! 😁 )

Photos in this blogpost:
1. CC image courtesy of Geagea on Wikimedia Commons
2. CC image courtesy of Daderot on Wikimedia Commons
3. CC image courtesy of Gordon Griffiths on Wikimedia Commons
4. CC image courtesy of Rrafson on Wikimedia Commons

Acharei Mot-Kedoshim: A Shabbat of Joy and Hope... and Eight Others Too!

A few years ago, a group of folks from my congregation planned a trip to Israel. We worked together for many months - created a whole itinerary, met several times to get everyone excited, discussed logistics, and ironed out all the details - and then, a few, short weeks before the trip was going to take place, fighting broke out in Israel (more than usual), and we had to cancel everything.

We were all devastated and heart-broken, and it was a very painful defeat. However, one year later, almost the entire group was back together, and THIS TIME we made it to the Holy Land!! Not only that, but the experience was perhaps heightened, and that much more special BECAUSE we had to start all over again and overcome adversity. It felt so incredibly devastating at the time, yet all the more meaningful and empowering twelve months later. I am feeling similar emotions to that Israel trip right now, in preparation for tomorrow's Shabbat morning service.

In January of 2019 - 16 months ago - I started meeting with a group of congregants to learn (or relearn, for some) the Aleph-Bet-basics of Hebrew. An impressive group of people kept meeting for months, and then eventually transitioned to an Adult B'nai
(or actually "B'not," since they're all women) Mitzvah class. A few people had to drop out along the way, and a couple of new people joined in, and for the past year, I've been working with an absolutely phenomenal group of ten women. They've been studying, discussing, learning, arguing, laughing (and sometimes crying), supporting, and committing 110% to the monumental task of chanting from the Torah scroll & leading parts of the service. And some will also be speaking in front of the congregation about their/our shared experience. As if the task wasn't daunting enough - having to fit study time into "regular" life and delving into some way-outside-their-comfort-zone skills - a pandemic was suddenly thrown into the mix! Obviously, our service would need to be postponed... possibly even canceled... right?

Nope! Not this group. Tomorrow morning, the service will continue as planned, but over Zoom, and with a few necessary modifications.

In addition, similar to our thwarted Israel adventure, the whole class has resolved to learn yet ANOTHER Torah reading in the future, so that they too can enjoy the gratifying feeling of both doing the service in-person AND proving that we will not be defeated by adversity. Some individuals have postponed their sharing of reflections, until such time as they can be done in our Main Sanctuary... because they WILL be back! (You're welcome, Tammy...) I am so impressed with their resolve and commitment, just as I was inspired by the participants on that Israel trip, several years ago. And even though our Torah portion is about something TOTALLY different, that has nothing to do with traveling or Torah reading or perseverance, I actually still found a section that reminded me of these two fabulous and undeterred groups.

In Leviticus, 19:23-25, the Torah talks about practices and commandments for when the wandering Israelites eventually enter the Land of Israel. (They too had to wait to get there, though slightly longer than our tour group...) This particular passage talks about

when you plant new crops, and how you cannot partake of the fruit for THREE years after they've started to grow! Then, when three years are finally up... you have to wait yet ANOTHER year, as the Torah declares: "In the fourth year all its fruit shall be set aside for jubilation before Adonai." Only in Year Five may you begin to enjoy the produce... that YOU planted!! Whatever agricultural, theological, or halachic (legal) reasons the text may have for these laws, one thing that you and I may learn from this is patience. There is value in delayed gratification, and even a sense of HEIGHTENED joy when you finally get to have that coveted experience! Often, in life, we want what we want when we want it. And we believe that getting it *right away* would without-a-doubt be the ideal. But whether it's travel abroad, a delicious looking apple, or a hard-earned rite of passage, sometimes waiting makes the fulfillment that much sweeter.

Mazal Tov to our wonderful, fabulous, phenomenal, inspiring, talented class!! This post is dedicated to all of you; Bev, Hope, Inge, Jodi, Joy, Lisa, Sherry, Tammy, Vicky... and maybe just SLIGHTLY more to Cathy, who was my partner-in-crime on that Israel trip too! :-)

Images in this blog post courtesy of my iPhone:
1. Our brave Israel travelers in August of 2015!
2. A dreaded page from the trope/cantillation portion of our learning :-)
3. B'not Mitzvah class, hard at work last summer
4. The whole crew, ready for a Zoom-stravaganza!!!