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. 

Pinchas: What About MY Point-of-View??

How could anyone be expected to appreciate another  person’s perspective, if s/he never knew there was another way to see things? As human beings, we are conditioned since birth to see the world through our own eyes, our cultural lens, and our inherited biases. That’s how you develop a sense of self, identity, and pride in who you are. However, EVERYONE’s point-of-view is different, so we eventually have to learn to take others into account, in order to learn empathy, compassion, and curiosity. It’s fine to expect the world to think/act/behave like you when you’re four years old… less so when you become an adult. 

This week, the Torah wants to teach us the value of multiple perspectives… and in particular emphasizes how critical it is that people who don’t feel seen or acknowledged speak up and advocate on their own behalf. Our specific example comes in the form of five daughters (with wonderfully unpronounceable names…) whose father died in the wilderness before the Israelites could enter the Promised Land. These confident women approach Moses (and God) and point out that since their father is dead, and they have no brothers, their families will receive no land allocation once they enter Canaan. They declare: “Let not our father’s name be lost to his clan just because he had no son! Give us a holding among our father’s kinsmen!” (Num. 27:4) Moses brings the matter before God, and God agrees with the daughters. 

What I find especially striking here is the notion that God hadn’t considered this before! Or any issue, for that matter!! It never occurred to God that families with only daughters could lose their inheritance? The idea of God learning and adjusting is unique in-and-of-itself, and I kind of love it. If even God can be persuaded… shouldn’t we humans be willing to hear new ideas and allow our thinking to shift and evolve? But even if that *isn't* the case, and God DID already know, I still think there’s a powerful lesson here: Speak up for yourself! Advocate on your own behalf, because someone else truly might not have seen it from your vantage point. Perhaps they did… but you’re never gonna know until you step up, come forward, and let others know what you’re experiencing. 

And from a leadership perspective I think the lesson is equally crucial! You don’t know what others are seeing or feeling. There’s simply no way for you to know! So you have to solicit feedback and create an environment where people feel their input is valued and heard. For me, as a white, straight, cisgender male, I need to invite anyone and everyone to offer their opinions - their own Takes on Torah, if you will… - to enrich and expand my outlook. I can’t know what it looks like from your seat, so please tell me. But it isn’t all on you to speak up. I’m not released from any obligation to be inclusive, just because others haven’t spoken up. It is absolutely my responsibility to create the space and vulnerability for others to know their input is welcome and appreciated. This Biblical story is about one, ancient, brave, trailblazing, confident group of women; but right now, today, we all can truly learn from their example!

Balak: God Already Knows the Answer… Do You?

I like questions a lot. If you’ve been reading this blog for any amount of time, I have to believe that statement doesn’t come as a surprise to you AT ALL. At the Passover Seder, I always like to spend the most amount of time on the questions in the Haggadah… as well as the ones NOT in the text, but which we, ourselves, might ask. Introspection (asking questions of oneself…) is always a central theme for me during the High Holidays, and whenever I see questions in the Torah text (or have questions of my own *for* the Torah…), I light up! And sometimes the very best questions in the Bible are not, in fact, asked by humans at all. As an aside - and a reward for you blog-readers - I will offer a hint that you might hear more about these Divine Questions in this year’s High Holiday services… There is something really special about the moments when God asks a question - ANY question - in the Torah, for one, obvious reason: Doesn’t God, being Omnipotent, already know the answer?

This week, the question I wanted to focus on is also unique, because it’s not being posed to one of our ancestors, or indeed to any Israelite or even an ally of our forbearers! Our parashah is entirely depicted from the perspective of Balak, the king of the Moabites, who reaches out to a non-Israelite prophet, Bilaam, to curse the Israelites on his behalf. Theologically speaking, it always fascinates me that God intervenes at all, because I wouldn’t have thought that the curse of an idolatrous prophet would be something God (or we) would worry about at all! Nevertheless, God shows up in this story, and questions Bilaam about his intentions regarding Balak and his emissaries. In one of their first little tête-à-têtes, we find the question that peaked my interest: “God came to Bilaam and said, ‘What do these people want of you?’” (Num. 22:9) How puzzling, don’t you think, that God wouldn’t know why these emissaries of Moab and Midian have come to Bilaam?? Gosh, and here I thought God was omniscient and all…

As with so many of these wonderful, Divine, often-rhetorical questions, I firmly believe that God already knows the answer. So what, then, is the purpose of asking it in the first place?? Wouldn’t it make more sense for God to say to Bilaam (assuming our God and Bilaam talk at all, which I’ve still not gotten over…), “Don’t speak! I know what you’re going to ask me… and the answer is ‘NO!!’” In my estimation, there’s actually more going on here. God is showing us - here and in several other no-brainer questions - that the real work has to happen inside us. GENUINE learning comes from within, not from an external source. The best teachers know that lecturing from the front of the room only ever gets you so far. If you can provoke students to think critically, challenge assumptions, and draw their own conclusions, that learning may prove to “stick” in their brains a whole lot better. God is modeling that for us, throughout the Tanach.

In Bilaam’s case, God may be curious to see how much the prophet is willing to disclose about why these men are approaching him: “Why do *you*, Bilaam, think they are here… and how do you feel about that?” Every person has a unique and individual perspective, so asking several individuals what they heard, what they understood, and what they think should happen next, may often yield vastly different answers and opinions. So God wants to know, what does Bilaam think is being asked of him, and does he understand the ramifications of cursing an entire people on their behalf? In the end, I feel strongly that God is challenging us to take ownership of our lives and our experiences. Don’t sleep-walk through life and do what’s expected of you or what is comfortable/easy, when you can achieve *so much* more by being active, alert, curious, and interested! We should be pushing ourselves to make a positive impact on the world, and on the people around us, by asking ourselves good and tough questions on a regular basis. And I guess the Torah is cautioning us; if you don’t ask yourselves those questions, God may just show up and ask them of you. What then??

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. geralt on Pixabay
2. George Parilla on Flickr
3. Conmongt on Pixabay
4. Barry Schwartz on Flickr

Chukat: You. Shall Not. Pass.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Beha’alotecha: Flesh or Spirit?

I don’t usually do this, but this week I’m going to introduce an idea here on the blog, and then continue developing the concept in services on Saturday. I know, I know; not everyone who reads the blog attends services, so this may seem unfair. First of all, I’ll be totally honest with you: I like to create incentives to try and get people to attend services. ;-) Second, I stumbled upon an interpretation and commentary on a section from this week’s Torah portion that simply cannot be encapsulated in four paragraphs on a blog. I could, of course, write a longer post... but I’m not going to. If anyone isn’t joining in for services, but wants to know more, feel free to e-mail me or leave a comment here on the blog. So, what I wanted to talk about are two subjects; meat-eating and prophecy. Super-related concepts, right? Well, let’s see if we can’t link them together.

As you’ve probably heard me speak (or write) about in the past, the Torah is filled with peculiarities throughout the text. Sometimes these look like typos, other times they are big letters, little ones, strange omissions, references to texts we no longer have, and so on and so forth. Occasionally, a principle that helps us unravel these mysteries is the idea that there are multiple authors. The Torah was potentially *not* written at one particular time; by Moses or ANY one individual. Rather, it is a compilation of sources and traditions, assembled over centuries. So when I stumbled upon this week’s oddity, I instinctively wanted to chalk it up to two intertwined narratives... but there's actually a lot more going on here. In the Book of Numbers, chapter 11, two seemingly-unrelated stories play out simultaneously. The first is about the Israelites grumbling and complaining (big shock...), and the second is about Moses’ frustration at constantly being the target of the people’s ire. Well, those two storylines sound pretty linked, right? Or do they...?

While they start out seemingly similar, one story unfolds into telling us how God promises to send the people quail, because they are sick and tired of eating Manna all the time. The second narrative has God instructing Moses to choose 70 elders to help relieve some of his burden of leadership and prophecy. While they still may sound connectable, the text jumps back and forth between these stories in a most awkward fashion. It breaks down like this:

Verses:        Subject:

4-15             The desire for meat
11-15            Moses' crisis of leadership
16-17           Prophecy: The seventy elders given by God in response to Moses.
18-22/23    Meat: God responds to the craving for meat by providing the quails.
23-30          Prophecy: the seventy elders
31-34           Meat: the punishment

On Saturday, I’ll talk more about how we determine whether these are one narrative or two. But I read a wonderful commentary by Rabbi Alex Israel on the juxtaposition of these two, and the idea that the Israelites are grappling between the needs of the flesh and the needs of the spirit. And he adds: “Possibly, the people are still dithering between meat and spirit, between Egypt and Israel.” What a fabulous insight! These two stories represent their (and our...) struggle between, on the one hand, our bodies’ cravings and the related allure of idolatry, and on the other hand, faith in God and focusing on mental and emotional well-being. Ancient Egypt represented one extreme - of subservience, dependence, and fear - while the promise of a new homeland represented self-determination, unity, loyalty to God, and communal responsibility. And indeed, in all our lives, we often find ourselves waffling between the right-now needs of sleep, hunger, and instant gratification, and the long-term health of meditation, journaling, and introspection. Sometimes we think these are two totally disparate conversations, when in reality they are quite intertwined. And if you want to see more about just how linked these two narratives are - for our ancient forbearers AND for us - come to services on Saturday! ;-)

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. UNSW-Sydney
2. Jeremy Hiebert on Flickr
3. Becky Matsubara on Flickr
4. glossophilia

Naso: Fighting... whether Philistines or Palestinians

Our Torah portion this week, Naso, includes a peculiar set of laws (in Numbers, chapter 6) regarding the nazirite. This isn’t a tribe or a separate people, but rather a title; a conscious choice that someone might make to *become* a nazirite. They vow to abstain from drinking or consuming any byproduct of wine or grapes, to not cut their hair, and to not go near a dead body. We honestly don’t learn much more about what it means to make this choice... and perhaps most importantly WHY. But the Haftarah, assigned to this Torah portion by the ancient rabbis, is the story of the most famous nazirite, Samson. Well, it’s *almost* the story of Samson; it really tells the tale of his parents, in the Book of Judges, and it ends with his birth. If you’ve read about the escapades of Samson (and not just that he had long hair and super-strength), you probably understand why the rabbis thought it best to just end with him being born. (He’s kind of a violent fellow...) I thought maybe we could look at Samson here though, for just a little bit, especially considering the uncomfortably apt fact that he fought the Philistines in Gaza.

Before I get into it though, a word about the Philistines and the Palestinians: Historically speaking, it is both true and false that the two terms are linked. The Biblical Philistines - enemies of Samson, Saul, and David - were a sea-faring people who lived along the Mediterranean coast for several hundred years, before they were defeated by the Assyrian Empire in the 6th Century BCE. Even after the people were gone, and their culture along with them, the region retained the name “Philistia.” It was not, however, until the Roman emperor Hadrian put down a Jewish rebellion in 135 CE (so seven hundred years later...), that he officially renamed the area “Palestine.” And it’s likely that Hadrian did so specifically to stick it to these pesky Jews who challenged his authority, and therefore named the region after an ancient Israelite enemy. Not until the Ottoman Empire, into the 20th Century, did the local non-Jewish residents begin referring to themselves as Palestinians. But I also want to make it abundantly clear that even though the modern-day Palestinians may not be direct descendants of the Philistines, they reasonably DO share DNA with them, and they absolutely have legitimate and long-standing claims on the land. 

My point, therefore, is NOT to discredit the Palestinians right to statehood in Gaza and the West Bank. Rather, I want us to observe that history repeats itself, and what we see going on today, in 2021, feels eerily similar to the wars and conflicts of our Biblical predecessors from nearly 3,500 years ago. And just like today, it is hard to parse out who-started-what-and-when, and who is “really” to blame... if such a thing even exists. Over the course of three chapters in the Book of Judges, Samson battles the Philistines repeatedly, and often single-handedly. They wrong him, he kills a lot of people in retaliation, which leads them to threaten - and perpetrate - violence, which sets him off again, thus angering the Philistines, and round and round we go. Sounds a little familiar, doesn’t it? And so tragically and pointlessly current. Both peoples have been in the region for millennia. No one is leaving, no one will concede, and everyone continues to fight. 

There is also something terrifyingly prophetic about how the story of Samson ends. He is ultimately captured by the Philistines, and subsequently blinded. In one final act of vengeance, Samson regains his Herculean strength for a moment, and demolishes the Philistines’ idolatrous Temple of Dagon; killing himself and thousands of his enemies in the process. And yes, all of this took place in - you guessed it - Gaza. So I think we have to ask ourselves in 2021: is this all one, big suicide mission? Today there is a cease-fire, but soon enough Hamas will resume terrorizing Israel with thousands of rockets, while the Israeli military will continue its relentless assault on Hamas targets in Gaza... often nestled in civilian neighborhoods and municipal buildings. Will it ever end? History does not offer us a lot of comfort in response, that much is clear. But maybe - just maybe - our ancient texts can challenge us to break the cycle. We’ve tried annihilation for millennia. In the end, they are still here and so are we... just with a lot more grief and mourning for the civilian casualties. I pray fervently that the leaders in that region look to history for some guidance and cautionary tales. And I hope and pray and plead that they do so before they demolish the proverbial temple; before it is too late, and they have killed everyone. Only time will tell...

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of: 
1. wannapik.com
2. Bukvoed on Wikimedia Commons
3. 周小逸 Ian on Flickr
4. Matanya on Wikimedia Commons

B'Midbar: There's A Time to Relax... and a Time to Grow

This week, we are starting the fourth book of the Torah, B'Midbar. In English, it is called the Book of Numbers (which honestly isn't the most helpful or descriptive of titles...). More than perhaps any of the other books, I truly prefer this one's Hebrew name over the English. The first book of the Torah is our origin story, from Adam & Eve, through Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and his wives, and Joseph bringing the family down to Egypt. The second book focuses on the Exodus story (hence it becomes the name of the book...) and some of the very initial travels of the Israelites into the desert. Then the third book pauses in the narrative to give us the law code of the Levitical priests as well as some basic principles for Israelite living, and - of course - the Commandments. The fifth book will mainly focus on Moses' own retelling of the story, and his farewell address to the people. This book now, B'Midbar, really gets into the trials and tribulations of the Israelites during their wanderings in the desert.

Twice in that first paragraph (above) I mentioned the term "desert," which is sometimes used as the translation for the Hebrew name of our book. But I actually much prefer to translate "Midbar" as "wilderness." Because the emphasis isn't so much on the topography surrounding them, nor on the prevalence of sand, sun, or vast dunes. This is the most important and formative time for our ancient ancestors, and the experience that will transform them from a ragtag band of former slaves, into a nation-building, cohesive people that is ready to conquer territory and defend it. So what I love about the term Midbar is that it really evokes a neutralizing of everything that came before. It's almost like a blank canvas, a reset, and a new opportunity for the Children of Israel to redefine themselves and shape their own destiny.

What especially resonates with me about this notion is the importance of different experiences throughout our lives. We sometimes think that the ideal would be safety, security, calm, and ease. Maybe a picturesque home in a quiet suburban neighborhood, where nothing difficult or challenging ever takes place. And yet, we do not grow in such an environment. It is like the cool-down portion of an exercise routine. Sure, it would be lovely if we could sit in a sauna for an hour and build muscle, but that's just not how it works! We need effort, exertion, resistance, and yes, pain. So safety and calm are great for vacation, for replenishing our energy, and for taking stock. But then we have to venture out into the proverbial wildernesses of our lives, because THAT is where growth happens.

When we change the term from "desert" to "wilderness," we also open up to some important connections to our own experiences. Most of us haven't spent 40 years hiking through a desert... but maybe we have felt lost, cold, afraid, and alone, fumbling our way through the metaphoric "wildernesses" of addictions, terrible illnesses, heartbreaking loss, and - I venture to say for EVERYONE on the planet right now - chaotic, life-altering pandemics. It isn't relaxing or enjoyable, but it is actually necessary for us to evolve, build resilience and inner strength, and to discover abilities within ourselves that we may never know we ever had to begin with. The Israelites experience absolutely transformative change in their midbar, and we should aspire to do the same. We honestly don't get to determine WHAT happens to us in life; we only get to decide how to respond to it, how to learn from what we've been through, and we can choose to be strengthened by it. To me, that is the lesson of ALL the wilderness experiences we may go through in life. It isn't easy, and it may in fact be harrowing and daunting. Nevertheless, we march on, and we do our best to grow and evolve with every step we take.

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. Rabbi Gerber's library
2. David Stanley on Flickr
3. Christopher Chappelear on Flickr
4. PDPics on Pixabay