Modern plagues and pharaoh.

This week's parsha, parshat va'eira, includes the first seven of the ten plagues intended as proof to Pharaoh that God and therefore the children of Israel are determined to escape the despicable conditions they face in Egypt. Moses approaches Pharaoh again and again requesting that he let the Israelites leave for a brief sojourn to sacrifice to their God in the desert. Each time, the request is denied (or permitted but then recanted once the plague subsides).

Moses sometimes makes entreaties to Pharaoh, but almost as often simply casts the plague onto the Egyptians and waits for the response Pharaoh will give. Each time, the response is the same: ויחזק ה׳ את-לב פרעה ולא שמע אלכם, and God hardened Pharaoh's heart and he did not hear them (Shemot 9:12). Even when pharaoh agrees out of fear to let the Israelites escape, he again becomes stubborn and another plague falls upon Egypt. 

Take in our 21st century world, one is easily reminded of the current situation with the refugees from Africa. After a recent court decision, the anti-migration bill, claimed that holding refugees in closed detention centers was illegal, the refugees were sent to an open detention center in Holot. They were faced with thrice daily check-ins and distinct curfews, meaning little to no opportunity to work. When the completely absurdity of the situation was brought to light in op-eds and other media, comments were made that at least they people had better living conditions; food, water, health care, shelter. My response: that isn't a life, it's being held in transit without a chance to progress. 

When a group of refugees left the prison to march to Jerusalem to get their case heard, many came out to support them. However, 48 hours later they were buses back to the detention center. The next time they tried to leave, they were stopped within hours.

Pharoah didn't just live thousands of years ago. It seems that the Israeli government is forgetting the plagues that still impacted us, and acting as a modern day pharoah, demanding the movement of bricks from point a to point b without purpose and inflicting on these refugees terror after terror. We must remember that although we were not inflicted with the plagues, they still exist. And that the plagues started from somewhere. They began with Pharaoh's despicable behavior. That in and of itself is a plague, even if it is not included in the ten we hear of so often.

We must not stand by and simply allow these modern day plagues to continue destroying the lives of innocent individuals, simply come to Israel for freedom from persecution. We, as concerned human beings must take a stand and support human rights, holding humanity to a universal standard, as demonstrated with the UN Universal Declaration of Human Rights. We cannot wait for Israel to come around. We must not enslave people and be the incarnation of pharaoh we worked so hard to escape!

The games we play

I started playing a new game this week. It's called Yukon and looks a lot like solitaire, but about seven times more complicated. As in solitaire, you can only put black on red or vice verse and you the only card you can move to an open space is a king. However, on each pile is six cards that you have to sort through in order to win. You can move more than one card at a time, as long as the card at the bottom of the pile you're moving is usable.

The game requires more skill, attention, and brain dexterity than solitaire, and I must always stay a step ahead. If I try to play half-heartedly, I lose quickly. By letting my eyes scan the board and giving each move time, I simply feel my way through the card game. Not every game concludes in a win (in fact, I've only won twice in the 22 games I've played-although it feels like more), but there is a sense of puzzle unscrambling that leaves me content when I press the symbol for a new game.

This week, something else new occurred; not just in my life, but in that of the Jewish people. This week marks the beginning of reading the next book of the Torah, Shemot. We have finally gotten to the content and have begun to meet the characters who will lead us through the next four books. Consequently, we are faced with both their flaws and positive characteristics and must make our own decisions as to their true character.

Just like in a game, we must acquaint ourselves with the rules of this new game, this new story, the new pace at which the Torah tells the tale. We must know that Moses has a speech problem, as he tells God, בי אדוני לא איש דברים (Shemot 4:10), I am not a man of things/words and notice the trouble God goes to in order to convince Moses that he is indeed God (the burning bush, turning Moses's hand leperous and back, turning the man's staff into a snake and back (ibid 3:2, 4:2-4, 6-7).

The foundation that must be laid in order to ensure the story makes sense and that the right people are included is immense. In fact, the parsha doesn't even really begin until the eight verse, where Moses himself is finally mentioned. Before that, we are given a listing of all the family of Jacob who remained alive in Egypt after his passing. This naming is an example of not following the rules, or simply making them up as one goes along. A commentary from the Lubavitcher Rabbi, used by chabad of California, suggests that names have such an important meaning because they are our identity. Especially in the Torah, where a person's name often describes some aspect of his character, this list represents the unflappability of the Jewish people. They don't make their names more Egyptian, nor are they boastful of them. Rather, they demonstrate their steadfast loyalty to their Jewish identity.

We too are living within a game, but one that may seem mundane on a daily basis. Take for example my lack of feeling in general for this coming Shabbat. It didn't hold much excitement and I was feeling down. Yet, as life threw many curveballs at me as I attempted to navigate the trip (forgetting shoes and food at school), I realized that in the end, this simply allowed me to prepare to welcome Shabbat. Now, I am looking forward to the quiet that Shabbat offers and the reflection that usually accompanies it.

Moses was lacking noise in his life and God definitely brought in color. Slowly, Moses gets used to his role in power, as I got used to my experience of figuring out the details of both my trip to Jerusalem and this card game. My prayer for this coming week is that you accept the game in your life and ensure that you have set a sturdy foundation, that you understand the rules (or are at least willing to adapt to them as necessary).

Parshat Vayehi

Birth is a beginning,

And death a destination.

And life is a journey...

All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players:

They have their exits and their entrances;

And one man in his time plays many parts.

Both Shakespeare and a poem found in the gates of repentance for YomKippur share the common theme of the challenge of life and the gravity with which we sometimes look back on it in the end. We don't necessarily remember the small moments, but rather the transitions, the big events or life changes that caused us to veer of course (who were we to know that the course itself might not have befit us?).

The memory of traversing many roads in an attempt to arrive in a snowed in city or the constant stress of running in order to wait-these pass with time. As do, unfortunately, the satisfaction with life in a particular moment or the memory of how someone laughed or smiled at you in just such a way. But the people who pass through our lives, they make a lasting impression. And we too, make a lasting impression upon them.

In this week's parsha, Vayehi, Jacob knows his death is imminent and so calls all his children to him to bless them, both individually and as a collective. Jacob is not wasting his exit, choosing instead to exit gracefully and with power. He chooses to use the power and attention that comes with death to bless his children, offering them their birthrights' at the same time. Instead of stopping the journey of life with his death, Jacob is prolonging his experience through his sons and playing even more parts than those given him in his human existance.

But first, Jacob calls Jospeh to bring his two sons, Ephraim and Manasseh. Yet, as always happens in the Torah, there is a twist. Jacob places his right hand on Ephraim, the youngest son and his left on Menasseh, as written in Genesis 48:13-14. This is quickly corrected by Joseph (48:17, who somehow knows that his father's eye sight is failing him. Yet, as happens with Jacob himself, the younger son indeed is given the birthright in genesis 48:19. Ephraim is the one promised to be a great nations his "seed [set to become] a multitude of nations, with Menasseh still being promised greatness, but on a lesser scale.

Then come the blessings to each of the twelve tribes, possibly seen as prophesy for what they will become. Jacob is the playwright for his sons future and is orally giving them the adventures they will take and be granted.

Yet what also motivates this Torah portion is the set up for the future of the rest of the Torah. We get the settling into Egypt and the prosperity from the twelve tribes. The people of Israel have become a people in and of themselves, allowing for the slavery in Egypt that begins the exodus story.

Before the slavery can occur, however, Jacob must die and take his exist gracefully. Shakespeare penned, in As You Like It that the

"last scene of all,

That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second childishness and mere oblivion,

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything."

Jacob is specifically not taking his leave in that way. Rather, he chooses to fight and remain full of life to the end. However, he leaves his history behind. And as the characters do when death strikes in As You Like It, they mourn the death of their fellow travelers on the journey of life and then raise a glass (or in the Jewish case, have a meal) in honor of the deceased loved one. Genesis 50:10 we see the beginning of the traditional Jewish mourning period, seven days of sadness where one is given the time to openly grieve the loss. of his or her loved ones. This period, called shiva in Hebrew, gives the mourners time for outward prayer, reflection and memory. They move from beings in a state of aninut to one of aveilut (mourning). This allows them to move their focus from dealing with the death arrangements to doing the necessary grief work to continue on with life.

The pain but also beauty of this week long period is fitting to occur at the end of berashit. Although the characters we met in this first book of Torah never lived in our lifetimes, we feel as though we met them. We now have even days, a period of shiva, to remember the lessons we learned before we continue into the next book of the Torah.

However, the lesson we take from week's parsha is much simpler. It is the reminder that we must let pain, sorrow and grief run its natural course and help those around us experience their emotions as they occur. We must not minimize other people's grief and we must aid as we are able.

Shabbat shalom.

God's presence: Miketz

 As I read this week’s parsha, Parshat Miketz, the songs from the musical, Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat, flash through my mind. Constant reminders of song and dance numbers dance across an imagined stage and I cannot take the parsha seriously. Rather, I recognize that I am reading a segment of a longer saga, set in the time of Egypt, but with serious ramifications when considered in today’s language and backdrop.

Miketz begins with Pharoh in a dream, unsure of the meaning (regardless of the two years passage between this and the last parsha). Pharoh dreams in multiples of seven, first seven big and hearty things, followed close behind by seven slim and poor crops. The seven less fortunate consume the seven better endowed. The only reason Joseph is brought upon the stage is because the chief cupbearer (translation unclear) finally remembers Joseph and his dream interpretation in the prison. Therefore, once mentioned, Joseph is quickly released from his prison cell and brought before Pharoh. Instead of immediately interpreting the dream and knowing the meaning (as Pharoh implies will be Joseph’s good fortune), Joseph reminds Pharoh of God’s presence, saying in Genesis 41:16 biladai, eloheim ya’aneh et shalom paroh, not I! God will answer (see to) Pharoh’s welfare.

We are quickly reminded that God does not stray far from Joseph’s side, despite Joseph’s stint of imprisonment. Considering this, I am reminded of the many times throughout my life I have doubted God’s presence. Constantly questioning and unsure that I am lifted up by a supportive being, I walk along dispirited and alone. Yet, time and time again, something occurs to remind me of God’s presence. However here, Joseph does not even mention God in relation to himself. Rather, he reminds Pharoh that God will make God’s presence known in how God assists this high-ranking man.

After the presence of God comes up time and again in the previous installment of this story, it isn’t surprising that God comes up rather quickly into the parsha. What does strike as interesting is the lack of continuity between the characters. The cup bearer forgets to mention Joseph when re-installed in his former post and Joseph remains lonely in jail. Yet, the moment dreams are mentioned, when his memory is jogged (despite his forgetfulness right after being released), the cupbearer remembers Joseph. Here, Joseph begins his second upward climb (the first being in Potiphar’s house).

God’s presence is always an interesting topic to broach. Who believes in God and what form does that belief take? How many of us truly can say that God has an impact in our lives or that we walk with God? Who really believes enough to put their trust in God, and does that trust remove the necessity for personal onus?

These questions are ones that will plague us our whole lives, if we are human and desire to continue encountering God. Unfortunately, there may never be concrete answers or direction. But that is the beauty of Judaism. Each person is entitled and able to have his or her own unique relationship with God. The personal relationship helps shape the person’s connection to Judaism and often impacts how they interact with it.

However, we cannot turn our back’s on God or Judaism when the going gets tough or God seems conspicuously absent. Rather, we must remember that God remains there, although unseen and silent. God is still present. We may not know when God will show God’s presence or even the significance the lack of God may have. Maybe we need to make some necessary changes in our behavior before God demonstrates God’s hand again. Maybe we have hit a place where a friend or family member is sick and our belief has been stumped by sickness and loss. Maybe we simply have traveled down a road that leads us in a wrong direction and we must rely on our own self-awareness to traverse the path back to a more positive way.

Regardless of the reason God is not present or just not visible, God is still present. We need simply to remind ourselves, as Joseph reminds Pharoh, that God is still with us, that God will look after us. Whatever way we personally envisage God and God’s impact and connection in our lives, God is still present and we must remain open to accepting whichever way God does eventually appear.

The question becomes, so what? If a person doesn’t believe in God and all of a sudden God comes into the conversation, that person becomes oddly silent. There is an impassable chasm which has opened up and that person is stuck on the other side. That is the person for whom Joseph makes his presence felt. Joseph is our reminder that even for people who may not believe or understand God, God is still there. We must simply be the conduit through which God speaks and assists.

Brotherly...love

Full disclosure, it is just about an hour before Shabbat is to begin and I'm not sure I have quite enough time to get all my thoughts down in the best sequential order. As a road map (somewhere along the line I learned what it was a good idea to lead the reader and inform them of what will be discussed in a piece of writing). Therefore, dear reader, know that I plan to discuss the so called coat of many colors (כתונת הפסים) as well as genesis 37:29-30, right after Joseph is sold to Midianites passing into Egypt, where Reuven's actions are suspect with regard to the preceding few verses. Oh yeah, and the entire chapter that's dedicated to Judah and his unfortunate fornication with random women (multiple women even!).

The Joseph story is probably one of the most well known stories of my childhood. I knew of the deceit and despair, of Joseph's brothers throwing him in a pit and selling him into slavery. Joseph works for Potiphar, who's wife tries to trick Joseph into sleeping with here and gets him sent to jail for not doing so by framing him. And Joseph interprets two dreams while in prison (here is where this week's parsha concludes). Yet, we don't hear about Judah and Tamar, his daughter in law. Only when we are older. But even then, I learned about it for the first time in rabbinical school. The knowledge that there are side stories woven within the Joseph story was a strange awakening. It forced me to acknowledge that many of the stories I know from my youth were not told to me in completion. Rather. I must now retrace my steps and fill in those gaps as a wiser young adult!)

Translations differ, but most translations call Joseph's coat a coat of many colors or an ornamented garment (JPS). Yet, if one takes a close look at the Hebrew, it is actually a stripped tunic. The idea that the stripes are what bring the coat it's color is a reasonable one, but simply the fact that this garment is not very specifically described is interesting. Why were the brothers so extraordinarily jealous of this particular gift over any other? Or did the coat simply give them an excuse to cause mischief to brew in Joseph's life.

Reuben seems to be a pacifist, although he angers his father enough to have Israel give the birthright belonging to the first son to his next to last, to Joseph. This assumption comes from his decision to protect Joseph and not outright kill him. Rather, Reuben suggests at the brothers throw Joseph in a pit and leave him there to die. At this point. Reuben is oddly quiet and we do not hear from him again until Berashit 37:29, when Reuben appears to look into the pit and, finding his brother gone, rents his clothes. Although the other brothers know that they have sold their brother into slavery, they allow Reuben to think he is gone. As the compassionate one among the brothers, we learn that no matter what evil plan we may wish to concoct, our actions always have an impact on those around us. Therefore, we must consciously not bring evil into the world. Rather, we must think before we act and try to lessen the negative impact we can have.

Although not the most sequential, and certainly not enough material for a sermon (rather enough for three or four), these are just a few of my thoughts on this week's parsha. Shabbat shalom

The love of my life!

I spend my days with kids who have accidents although they are potty trained, who lash out in frustration because they can't express themselves and don't know how to demonstrate what is happening, who simply can't respond and sit there rocking back and forth. If I think about the daily struggle of my job, I would be constantly depressed and upset. I would wonder at the unfairness of this world and question the very existence of God: how could God do this to a parents, to a child? Yet, I look into the eyes of the kid who accidentally wet himself and see a spark so deep it lifts me from my very soul. He spits out laughter and words along with drool, excited to spend a few minutes alone with me. Yet a hearty laugh and a deep squeeze of my middle, accompanied by a wet kiss remind me that this kid does know how to express himself and that his love is so deep. Yet when I appear in her line of site, this seemingly blank girl turns on her smile and we share a private laugh.

The daily grind is replaced by love and caring, but intimacy and understanding. Everyday is a challenge and forces me to reconsider how exactly I look at the world. I constantly revisit my expectations for the students always exceed them. They don't want to let me down and I can't stand the thought of disappointing them. They are way too important. So I walk slowly beside the excruciatingly slow steps of a kid walking with assistance, but walking nonetheless. So I allow myself to be bruised and pinched because it does no good to be afraid. So I hold my head high and try to understand the convoluted babble emitting from their mouths.

I love. Plain and simple, I get more than I give at this wonderful job. I am overjoyed that I found Beit Issie Shapira and that I get to watch the growth that comes each day. My frustration is replaced by smiles and laughter as a simple request for a hug or high five or a jump, phone, or iPad emit from a child. No exaggeration, I love my job and everything it entails, even with the exhaustion and pain and frustration and loneliness. Because no matter what, I have one of the best jobs in the world: I get to watch a smile form from the inside out and sometimes even be the source of it. I get to witness love expressed and pain consoled. I get to learn and teach and grow on a daily basis. I am me, everyday!

Reconciliation

This past Sunday, the entire school went to see a musical called פרח נתתי לנורית (I gave a flower to Nurit). Although based on a children's book of the same title, the musical takes a dozen or so children's songs and compiles them into a story of what it means to be strong and believe in yourself. Truthfully, I was so excited to be back in a theater that anything would have been enjoyable to me, although this show touched my very heart. Many of the offhand comments the actors made to their fellow players were exactly the kinds of things we explicitly tell our students not to do. Yet, although I cringed inwardly, I watched to see how they would rectify the wrongs played out on the stage. And fix them they did. The last song of the play, entitled מתפייסה,  means something along the linesמתפייסה of to make right or to make nice/good. That as well as the word בורגוס were unfamiliar to me. Regardless, I understood immediately that the point of. Song is that we must make right the wrongs we do in order to demonstrate how we want others to treat us. As I've been told over and over, if something is worth doing, it's worth doing right. The main character Danny spends the play learning to believe in himself and in the end even shows how magnanimous he is by inviting all three other kids to play with him (even after they made fun of and harassed him for so long).

Oddly enough, this relates directly to the relationship between Jacob and Esau. A few weeks ago we read about the birthright which Jacob was promised by  Esau when Esau simply desired a bowl of soup.  Now, many years later, Jacob wants to make right with his brother. After sending the message that he wants to meet, Esau returns saying he is coming with 400 men (interesting-either his family is rather large, or he believes in strength in numbers). Jacob splits his family into two camps on either side of the river Jabbuk, (a tributary of the mighty Jordan) and prepared the gifts he would present to his brother.

If you will permit me, a small detour into the parsha offers an interesting glimpse into the dexterity with which these stories are crafted. Genesis 32:25 has Jacob wrestling with a creature. As the day is breaking, the creature realizes he is being bested so touches and strains Jacob's thigh (which is why we don't eat thigh meat now). The creature then requests release, but Jacob does not relent. Instead, he demands a blessing in exchange. The name Israel is bestowed upon Jacob, meaning he who will struggle with God (the verb in Biblical Hebrew, ש.ר.ה. only appears twice in the whole bible, but definitely seems to have an association with struggle and perseverance. An interesting thing to look into further). The future connotation of the word suggests that Jacob and then the people who share his name will be blessed/plagued with struggles with God, but will persevere. Because not only is the word about struggle, but about perseverance. Which is very apt to the initial play, as the whole play is about Danny struggling with himself, with his self-esteem and courage. Three tasks are placed before him Dan three times he succeeds. Each task provides an opportunity to learn, and each one Danny finds a want to excel.

Now, as we turn back to the reunion of the estranged brothers, we see the direct correlation to התפייסות, which, As it turns out, when input into a translation machine, means reconciliation. How fitting. Esau runs to meet Jacob and falls on his throat (another example of possible mistranslation due to convoluted pronoun use) and kisses him. The reunion is complete and the brothers are connected.

Regardless, the brothers do have their reconciliation, their התפייסות. Although obviously difficult for each party, they find the inner strength to appear before the other and beg forgiveness. This lesson of putting aside one's pride and simply apologizing, or extending the hand of welcome is imperative for us to teach our children. For, if our children learn this lesson, plain and simple, they will be able to carry it into their lives and therefore be able to bring greater humanity to all those they encounter. 

Parshat v'etzei

Here are a few of my musings from this past week's Torah portion. It is abbreviated simply for lack of ample time attached to a typing device. More this week!

28:10 says that Jacob went out from beer sheva to heron. Yet, we know that if he went to heron he left Beersheva. So why is this important? Rashi posits that this is because he was a righteous man and the fact that he was leaving would make an impact on the place. What's also interesting is that Abraham's leaving of Beersheva is not mentioned with any fanfare, demonstrating that something was special with Jacob. Or, simply that the conditions for Abraham's departure were less noteworthy. Another thought is that when Abraham left Beersheva, he was not yet known as a righteous man, but when Jacob left, he had acquired a reputation.

28:13 God comes to Jacob in his dream and tells him אני ה׳ אלוהי אברהם אביך ואלוהי יצחק... I am God, the God of Abraham your father and Isaac. Yet, Isaac is Jacob's father, not Abraham. Why then are we told that Abraham is Jacob's father?

28:16 even the songs with which I am familiar from camp are part of this parsha. אכן יש ה׳ במקום הזה ואנוכי לא ידעתי. Surely God was in this place and I didn't know it. Yet, don't we talk about God being all around? So what is so strange about Heron that Jacob thinks God isn't even present there? Even stranger, he becomes afraid with this realization (28:17. Why fear, especially in a place where one has felt God (maybe the fear is precisely because Jacob felt the presence of God.

29:11 "and Jacob kissed Rachel." The question is how innocent of a kiss is this? And why was he looking for Rachel to begin with? He didn't know her from Leah, unless there is a backstory that we aren't aware of.

29:15, 18. Laban asks Jacob how he wants to receive payment for his work, to which Jacob responds that he will work 7 years for Rachel (or at least the privilege to marry her)! Jacob is the one to suggest that he will work such a short time. But it's interesting that the suggestion of some form of augment comes from Laban, and he initially agrees to the terms Jacob sets down. Yet why does Jacob set down such a long time; to demonstrate his seriousness in wanting to marry her? Also, although not surprising,  Rachel has no voice in this...

Jerusalem: an inspiration

There is nothing like Jerusalem to stir up turmoil, excitement, frustration, and just engage the brain.

Thursday night, en route to the holy city, I never expected to find so much fulfillment in two days, but every fiber of me is feeling very much fulfilled and satisfied with all that has transpired.

Friday was the beginning, with an eye-opening trip with T'ruah. We visited Silwan, where Ahmed, a Palestinian facing a very real threat of eviction and house demolition, not to mention the permanent fixture of a bullet  embedded in his leg. Next, Yoni Mizrachi spoke to us about archaeological records and how the artifacts found at Ir David (which in itself possesses a controversial name) may not necessarily be from the time of the kingdom of David. Lastly and most impactful to me was the visit to Sheik-Jarra. Here, we spoke with a lovely Palestinian woman who told us of her experience with the Israeli government and Jews. This beautiful and proud woman demonstrated that she moved to her current house in 1956 and is currently under threat of eviction. Two doors down, we saw the evidence that these evictions were not fiction, but rather hard and true fact. This small neighborhood has slowly been turned into an orthodox enclave, complete with the supposed grave of Shimon haTzadik.

As we stood listening to this woman share her experience, we watched an orthodox woman walk down the street with her three young sons, covered head to toe in a black burka. Having never seen this outfit, I was taken aback and couldn't help but stare. It was explained that this was another way for woman to feel they were maintaining their modesty. To me, it felt like a step too far. We were shown houses taken over by Jews and the cameras surrounding them, in order to 'protect' the Jews. The same explanation was given about the guards provided by the housing ministry: they were simply there to protect. The fact that two people had died in the past few years could never be blamed on them (although it seemed sensible that it would be). All in all, this experience really nagged at me and made me question what I want to believe in in this country, with what I feel comfortable. Most importantly, I felt UNPREPARED TO WELCOME SHABBAT. How could I, when Jews were the persecutors and I felt partly to blamed. Even more, how could I even think of writing a d'var Torah for the week, when this dilemma was real and continued daily in these people's lives.

In looking at the parsha, I found an answer. Rivka is struggling with her pregnancy and asks God what is happening. God's explanation focuses on the two nations within, and what will become of each. God's answer, in Genesis 25:23, provides an example, but one that we shouldn't necessarily utilize: Two nations are in thy womb, And two peoples shall be separated from thy bowels; And the one people shall be stronger than the other people; And the elder shall serve the younger. This answer almost gave me chills, it was so easy to interpret in a way that was against the Palestinian population. Yet these two warring nations must live together, must be in the same place. And that is not the circumstances in this country of Israel. Rather, the Palestinians are continually forcibly evicted from their homes and told to go elsewhere, without compensation.

Nothing about this experience is fair or right, but recognizing the oddity that I was able to find at least something in the text, for this week, that relates to this tragedy was heartening (and scary). Because if I can find an explanation in support of the Palestinians, so can the orthodox find a parek against these people. That's the part I struggle with the most: knowing that there is always another verse, another explanation from the opposite direction. Fortunately, I at least know how I feel and that truth must be told. That is the purpose of this week's drash.

This evening, walking home from a viewing of the woman of the wall documentary with a rabbi whom I had just met a few hours previously, I was recounting my experience to her and she made a comment that really made me think. She assessed that not only is the struggle Rivka experiences in her womb representative of two sons and two nations, but the dilemma we each feel inside of us. We feel the push and pull of what is right and wrong, what we believe in and what we don't. So more importantly, we must remember the internal struggle and allow our hearts to remind us what is right, what wrong, and for what we simply need to ask for more information!

Chayei Sarah: more specifically, After chayei Sarah...

Due to a little fight with a head cold, this post was unable to be constructed. But do not fret, this past week's drash is up and running for all to see:

This past week's parsha has the uplifting name of

chayei Sarah, the life of Sarah. Yet Sarah has already died in the first verse, which reads "and the life of Sarah was one hundred and seven and twenty years; that was the life of Sarah." The rest of that chapter focuses on Abraham purchasing a burial site for his wife (he is adamant that purchasing the site, rather than being gifted it, is of extreme importance), which is what we now know of as the cave of machpella located in modern day Hebron.

The next chapter is our introduction to Isaac as a grown man, but oddly enough, we really see the process of Abraham's servant acquiring for him a wife, rather than him living his life (interesting that many of the men we meet in the bible we see as children and then again as grown men. We don't often witness the more boisterous years of life)(Another thought to consider is that in 24:15, we know that the girl drawing water at the well is Rebecca, but when she introduces herself, she only says who her father is. In fact, she never says her name at all, it is simply known!). And the last chapter is of Isaac and Ishmael burying their father after some 300 years alive, also at the cave of Machpella (interesting that Ishmael is included in this very personal experience, but rarely mentioned after this. Also, we get a lineage of Ishmael's following the account of the burial, but nothing of Isaac-perhaps because we are shown this life in the coming parshiot.).

One striking aspect of this parsha is Sarah's constant presence. Abraham needs to find the right place to bury his wife. He must find a wife for his son, per Sarah's request. Isaac is out in the field meditating, as we read in Gen 24:63 ויצא יצחק לשוח בשדה, and Isaac went out to commune or muse pensively, in the field. One interpretation is that Isaac is so grieved by his mother's death that he cannot be calmed. Rather, he is at his wits end. Therefore, it makes sense when Rebecca, or רבקה (Rivka) as she's known in Hebrew, is taken by Isaac, he is consoled.

However, as translations from Hebrew chose words without necessarily demonstrating the prescribed meaning, we must look to the Hebrew for certain understanding. In Genesis 24:67, וינחם יצחק אחרי אמו. This phrase can have a few interpretations. One is that Isaac was consoled after his mother (I.e. this is the first time he is finding peace of mind after his mother's passing). Another meaning of the word ינחם is to be sorry or to repent. What Isaac has to repent for, I am not sure. However, this brings an interesting meaning to the verse.

When we understand that the words for comfort and compassion, as well as repentance come from the same place, a new meaning is given to the verse, and to the way I look at both passion and love. Sometimes, we go into relationships heart first, looking for healing from deep pain, looking for the comfort a significant other can offer. Sometimes, we are seeking repentance from a past wrong. Either way, the root נ.ח.ם fits the meaning of our actions. Although unsure whether Isaac needed to seek repentance, the reader can be certain that he needed consolation, comfort and compassion. All of which he seems to find in Rebecca's arms. But, maybe he also needed to repent for something not so easily seen in our biblical narrative. Often times, the same arms that offer consolation chide in reprimand. There is a possibility that Isaac did wrong his mother Sarah and must repent before he can move forward with his new wife.

Our lives, quite simply, may follow the trajectory of Isaac. We may very well find solace in our loved ones after grief strikes the heart. We may find that we must repent our poor choices, without ever having demonstrated them to our lover. Rather, our past baggage is still with us, and we must slowly drop it on the side of the road of life as we move forward. Which ever direction our love takes us, whether, towards repentance, comfort, or a combination of the two, may we all find נחום, nachum in our lives.

A stranger in a strange land

What makes people keep fighting, when it seems they will never succeed, that no one will ever listen? They constantly figure out ways to keep going, to move forward and discover a solution to whatever problem they face. They preserver and will not give up.

Genocide. FGM. Cold blood murder. Famine. Starvation. These horrors are more common than we realize, yet we live in our ivory towers, watching them and saying poo poo poo or 'thank God that isn't me.' We often don't ask the questions of who these people are and what they do. How they live or what their past entails. Not a second thought is 'wasted' on these indigents.

What would happen if we opened our eyes. If we looked into the eyes of these individuals and asked them about themselves. Even more importantly, what would happen if we show them some humanity and welcome them with a smile. Truthfully, not much. It doesn't hurt us to step outside the high walls of our seemingly glamorous life and demonstrate our humanity.

Imagine stepping off the bus in the central bus station in Tel Aviv, no money in your pockets and no clue how to escape the convoluted hallways of this cavernous building. You finally walk out a side door, breathing the stagnant air, thinking it is the best scent you have ever had the privilege to experience. You overhear a snippet of your own language and inquire as to where you should go. A gentle voice encourages you to cross the street and venture into Levinsky park. There, the hunger that ravages your stomach is finally satiated with food from generous Tel Avivians who cared enough to bring food for all refugees showing up to the park each night. Next, came the daunting task of figuring out where you would sleep the night. The park seems as good an idea as ever.

Your friend from the previous day shows up in the morning and offers you a hand and some helpful directions. Having passed multiple stays in prison, you aren't keen on trusting government, but you know you have no choice. Hopefully these ones won't beat you or hang you from the ceiling.

Instead, you leave the government building with a visa in hand and a chance for a future.

This is the story of one man, Mutasim Sumali, who escaped the genocide in Darfur, alone. He traveled from Sudan to Egypt and from there, eventually decided to come to Israel. Only when he realized that Libya, Jordan, and Saudi Arabia were not viable options. Now, he lives in Israel with a geology degree and hasn't seen his parents in ten years. Yet he could not work in anything higher than construction or other hard physical labor. And he did not give up hope.

Imagine. Someone appears to you and tells you to leave your home, your village, all that you know and go go a foreign land. Although Abraham was not a refugee, he did leave his known community and go to a land he was promised by God. He had no idea what lay in store for him, simply that he had to listen. He was alone and scared, unsure of the way, with only his tepid belief in God to keep him going. This first Jew was told that his descendants would indeed be strangers in this strange land (Gen 15:13). The possibility of being welcomed was narrow and their rights were omitted. Much like those of these strangers coming and claiming refugee status.

Abraham also has to bear a famine and disguises his wife as his sister to avoid her being taken by the pharoh in jealousy. But Abraham had a favorable outcome in the end. He ended up in Caanan, with his wife and their lot. He trusted in God and his a trust was proven well-placed. The refugees who come almost daily to Israel and are kept in prison, ten people per room suitable for two, they also place their trust in God. Yet they are constantly let down and betrayed.

We know what it is like to be a stranger in a strange land. We know what it is like to be castigated and denigrated simply for ones identity and background. Therefore, we have a moral obligation, on this Shabbat Lech-Lecha, to reach out to our brother and give them a leg up. We can offer them assistance, work, food, concern. We can work in conjunction with them. Mutasim eventually found a job as the director of the African refugee development center. He works hard everyday to aide his fellow countrymen in finding work and safety in this country. As one of the few with a high school education, not to mention his bachelors degree, Mutasim is lucky and has decided to work to support his fellow country men not through physical means, but legal ones. We can offer monetary assistance as well as our time (if we are in Israel), and give them our support. We know what it is like to wander. We cannot let these people wander, lost and alone, in our land. Otherwise, why would we deserve the land at all?

Seven or two: the ark of Noah

I'm back...this time for another year in Israel, but to teach instead of learn. But in order to continue learning, I am hoping to write a weekly Torah portion blog, with little interesting life bits mixed in. We'll see how it goes!

The number two is important in Judaism. It's the number of people you need to make a couple and פרו ובו, it's the number of people God created, it's the number of candles we light on Shabbat. The number seven is also important. It's the number of days in our week, the number of days it took God to create the world (although technically the seventh day wasn't exactly a day of creation, and it's the number of branches on a menorah.

So, there's nothing to say that one of these numbers is more important than the other. So, why not include both of them in this weeks Torah portion, פרשת נח (parshat Noah, Genesis 6:9-11:32). There are basically two accountings of what Noah is commanded by God to gather into his תבעה, his ark and the numbers in which he is supposed to gather them. Looking at the numbers seems rather frivolous, but it's an interesting thought, when do we take with us when leave the world for forty years? Do we simply need a pair of each thing to ensure its survival (oddly enough, we don't exactly hear about the progeny of these single pairings as they depart from the ark), or do we need seven pairs (but why so many), to make sure the animals do not get lonely and that there ill be enough to maintain the familial or herd mentality? And why are each represented in the Torah?

The command to take seven of each creature is specifically speaking of the clean or Kosher animals. Of those, Noah is commanded to take seven male and seven female of each. However, of the unclean animals, he is to take only two, male and his mate. The next verse, gen 7:4, reads כי עוד ימים שבעה..., for seven days remain until..., demonstrating another interesting use of the number seven. Ther is another week, another time of creation left for Noah to gather all these animals onto an ark of gopher wood which he has fashioned in his old age. But of course, when you're 600 years old, why would building an ark be tiring?

A very easy explanation for what happened and why we have these two sets of numbers is that the verse in 7:9 is simply saying that the animals entered two by two. But that doesn't take into account the verse in the previous chapter, 6:19 that requires Noah to have two of each animal on the ark. However, Talmud Sanhedrin 108b offers us some more recent writing on what actually happened on the ark (and by recent I mean still hundreds of years old!). It suggests that Noah couldn't distinguish between the clean and unclean animals, so the ark did it for him. Therefore, the numbers mattered only as much as the ark knowing which animals were allowed more and which less.

Although I don't believe in magic in the slightest, or witchcraft, the idea that the ark might have known who to allow entrance to the ark in large numbers and who to restrict is an interesting one. But it reminds us that all of God's creatures have value and are to be treated with respect. We, as both Jews and more importantly human beings, must take upon ourseles the responsibility to see the importance of all members of humanity. Especially with this most recent government shut down, where a gun fired outside congress had the entire building shut down and where people are simply left on furlough or without their precious food stamps, we must look to gather everyone on our own ark. But, just as Noah was not decisive of which animals he allowed to enter his ark, we must not be particular. We must allow all creatures to enter our sacred spaces and join us in conversation. We must be aware of our prejudices against others and not allow them to take over.

So, whether we actually have a real ark we are building in our back yard (it better be a rather spacious yard in order to hold the specified dimensions!) or we simply know that trouble has been brewing in our world, we know that a flood is not likely to come and destroy the whole world. Rather, it is upon us to change those around us and open their eyes to the good we can do. The more that we can do to repair the world in our general environment, the better everything will be. And of course, the numbers seven and two will remain simply numbers instead of requirements of how many animals we must allow to enter our ark.

Falling in love...

I've fallen in and out of love this year. I've heard that happens, that you can fall out of love. But it seems that it's not falling out of love. Instead, one of two things happens. Either a. you were never in love in the first place and so when you fall out of love you are actually falling away from a lust or b. you simply weren't willing to put in the time and energy to make the relationship work and foster the love.
Now, one of the hardest parts is recognizing which kind of love you had and therefore which kind you are now either in or not in. This year, I have experienced both. However, the longest and most faithful relationship, the one that has outlasted all my other flings and romantic forays, is still in tact. In fact, I am ready to step up the level of commitment. I'm ready to move in. Buuut, that may have to wait. I need to tie up a few loose ends, make sure I have my life in order before I am ready to commit. But think of it as paying first and last month's rent on an apartment. I've done that. So now I just need to move all my things in.
I have fallen in love with two different things this year. One being myself, another this country. Guys have come and gone, but I have remained and this country is still here.
First, me. Wow! Looking back at the girl who hobbled off the plane, on crutches and also in need of a crutch for her heart, I am shocked. That girl has weathered heart break and sadness, loneliness and stormy thoughts. Yet she has also loved and lost, grew, experienced, expanded and settled in. I have settled in. Finally. I accept who I am. I even love her! And I am so proud of the woman I have become. I am someone who believes in myself. Even when fear paralyzes me, I believe in me.
Of course I make mistakes, silly decisions that leave me angry, upset and fuming. But I also know that I can recover from them. That the person I am is an individual who has the power to move forward. I have the passion, insight and determination to continue on.
Even my Jewish identity has grown. I am sure in my love for Judaism and belief in God (although what that means I'm not yet prepared to outline). Reform Judaism has helped mold who I am since I was very young and continues to do so to this day. However, I have discovered that there are different parts of the Jewish world which I love, whether it is a more traditional service, where all the pieces are present, or doing the traditional hand washing before a festival meal. The traditions have come alive to me. My task now is wrestling with the why, because simply DOING isn't enough, especially in the Reform realm.
Which leads me to my other love. Arriving in this country, I was prepared to do my year and get safely back on a plane to finish the next four years of Rabbinical school in the states. I would maybe visit Israel every once in a while, but it wasn't a place I felt a great affinity toward. Something changed in me this year. I no longer feel passe about leaving and I cannot just walk away. Israel has found her way into my heart and soul and become a part of who I am. The language, the culture, the people - it is all so vibrant and beautiful (even the parts that I cannot stand like the honking and awful driving and everything always being a little broken). We're past the honeymoon phase, we've moved into the figuring things out stage. And so far, we are doing that. And now, I am ready to step up the level of commitment. I am moving in.
I now know how to say no. I know what it means to respect myself and my boundaries. I can create distance when necessary and demonstrate that I am confident and proud of my decisions. With that in mind, I will be saying goodbye to my country today, with the knowledge that I will be back in a little under three months. A little tanner, a little smarter, a little older. I will be back, ready to start the next leg of my journey.

What if...

I'm currently reading a very well written book by Noah Hawley called The Good Father, about a father's journey to discover if his son killed the soon-to-be President of the United States and what his intentions are. Here are some thoughts that surfaced as I read, bringing home many Jewish values which I have discussed throughout the year.
 

What would you do if your son killed someone? You come home from work, turn on the television, and are faced with a terrible tragedy, one that opens the door to dismay and anger and shock. Minutes later, you discover that not only are you mourning the loss of this political figure, but that your son is behind the killings.

            How does one wrap his or her head around that knowledge? Knowing that one’s child killed another human being, even without premeditated thought is harrowing. It sends confusion and disgust from my gut. Yet at the same time, I know that I love fiercely. So what to do with that feeling sharply contrasted with the pain and desertion I felt.

            First of all, I have no children. So, honestly I don’t know. What I do know is that I am against killing, guns, violence. From my experience (not that I have much in my 23 years), killing people for a crime, or for any reason, is almost always illogical. The defense attempts a plea of insanity, claiming that the person was temporarily insane, or even permanently dealing with a mental illness. Yet, these people all have guns. Even someone suffering from a personality disorder has lucid moments where they function. Paranoid schizophrenia is the diagnosis for many people having killed political heros. They carry this label as a protection, as a badge, a way to explain why they would do such a thing. But truly, it seems like an excuse (this coming from someone who supports proper mental illness diagnosis and treatment).

            However examples of murder, flat out killing another, stem from the bible. We see Cain bring Abel to the field and killed him. The verse, Genesis 4:8, makes it unclear as to whether or not Cain killed his brother with pre-meditation. One interpretation is that Cain spoke to his brother. And some time later, they were in a field and Cain happened to rise up against Abel and kill him. Another interpretation is that Cain spoke to Abel and told him to come to the field, where Cain killed Abel. This particular version of the story settles the guilt squarely on Cain’s shoulders, showing him as someone wanting to kill his brother.

            God punishes Cain, although he first simply inquires as to where the boy’s twin has disappeared. Cain quips that he is not his brother’s keeper, giving Judaism the famous ideas of necessity to care for our brother and help keep them. I digress. The punishment Cain receives is one of becoming a wanderer and fugitive, not welcomed anywhere from that point forward. Yet nowhere do we hear of Adam or Eve’s sadness or disappointment or frustration over either the death of their son Abel or their son Cain’s murderous tendencies. Instead, all we hear is that Eve bore another son, naming this one Seth. The name does have some undertones of sadness, of reminiscence, as appointed by God, or a replacement from God. The name comes form the Hebrew root shin, yud, bet, meaning to apply, point or place. God has placed this new son in the presence of Adam and Eve to help them heal from the death of their son. Yet this is the ONLY mention in this verse of Adam and Eve having any emotional reaction to what occurred with both of their sons. Even more interesting, the next chapter does not even mention Cain and Abel. Rather, it goes from the creation of male and female, to Adam having a son, Seth. Interestingly enough, the killing of one’s brother does not warrant being discussed or depicted more than once!

            It would seem God is showing the Jewish people an example, one to consider for parents of children who have killed another human being (although I am not sure I would ascribe to this same logic had it been my son found holding a smoking gun). God demonstrates that one who kills another does not receive a place in the story, does not deserve to prosper and continue. Killing is wrong, a sin. Although the Ten Commandments had not yet been transmitted, we receive the sixth Commandment, do not murder. The actions of killing are not to be permitted, are to be punished.

            Yet what does the parent do, when their child is the one who commits the killing? Is it a parent’s responsibility to stand up for his or her child, or do they also need to condemn the individual for killing? Should a parent stand behind his or her child, unwavering in support? Personally, I do not know what I would do, faced with a child who had killed another. I don’t believe in guns and do not want them near me. I am a proponent of giving back to the earth, not taking from it. I am someone who champions the underdog, always giving my love to as many individuals as I can. My hope is that I will never need to face a situation where a child of mine intentionally or even unintentionally acts against all in which I believe. But faced with that circumstance, would I condemn my own flesh and blood? Would I be able to look him or her in the eye? Frankly, I do not know. What I do know is that I hope never to be faced with that dilemma!

“And my House shall be a House of Prayer for All People”

            Yesterday morning offered me a very strange, but incredibly moving opportunity. Sam, Max and I were at our Truma project and had the chance to perform a Mitzvah by being part of a minyan for an adult-woman’s Bat Mitzvah ceremony. We were more than willing to comply, both for the experience and for want to help out!!

            The service was beautiful in its own right, but it served as a reality check for the three of us, a reminder of what we will face in the congregations we (they) will be facing next year (and I will face the year after that). Our congregants will be people who want to put their foot in the door and be met where they are, without the necessity of learning and knowledge. Not all of them are like that, but many American reform Jews carry baggage from their childhood, of being forced into shul and Hebrew school and therefore don’t have the desire to remain involved.

            However, that was not the point on which I wanted to dwell. Instead, I was interested in what I experienced in the synagogue yesterday morning. We used the old Gates of Prayer: Gray gender sensitive edition, which I haven’t used for at least 5 years. Looking through the service, I noticed that the Hebrew came first, than the italics, and then the English. It was as if the prayer book was saying that Hebrew was more important, that Reform Jews had a responsibility to learn Hebrew, that if they didn’t, they were somehow Jews of a lower caliber. Obviously the format of the prayer book was thought through in thoroughly, but this just struck me as an odd occurrence. In Mishkan T’fillah, the Hebrew and the transliteration are side by side, at least allowing the reader to choose a knowledge of Hebrew or the language of transliteration. This option simply feels more egalitarian, more inclusive.

            Another issue of interest is that I was able to see all the parts inexplicably missing from the siddur. Okay, not unexplainable, but without an explanation. The editors simply chose to leave out certain parts that didn’t follow the Reform movement’s ideology or that we just had stopped doing over time. The Reform movement is the only sect of Judaism I know of that actually GET’S RID of liturgy instead of adding more, like the Orthodox seem to have done over the years. The problem however, is that there are whole generations (mine included), that grew up not knowing that there were other options. At least Mishkan T’fillah allows me the opportunity to understand what we do not use, and to actively decide what I want to include in my prayer and what I don’t.

            Also, Gates of Prayer tells us where to stand and sit, separating the Shema from the V’ahavtah, separating Kedushat haYom from the prayers that conclude the Amidah. Truthfully, I just want to know where this idea came from and why.

            The contrast between the chapel, which fully embodies the Israeli community feel, and the service itself was surreal. The chapel was complete with micrography on the walls and ark which symbolizes the seven species of Israel, as well as a room that is incredibly comfortable and welcoming, but not necessarily what would ever be found as the main place of prayer for a congregation in the states. However, had I closed my eyes, I could easily have been in a learners service in the states. I appreciated the service and the way Miri wove together a T’fillah experience rich in narrative and story for this family. Yet I was struck by the place where I was sitting and the community by which I was surrounded.

Parshat Shemini, D'var Torah

Although it's from a few weeks ago, here is the text of my D'var Torah!

Shemini D’var Torah

Elana Nemitoff

Shachrit, 4 March 2013

Silence.

Silence is uncomfortable. Silence is painful. Silence is funny. Silence often has a reason.

In Parshat Shmini, Leviticus 10:3, we hear, וידם אחרון, Aaron was silent. Why? This occurs after Aaron’s two sons bring אש זרה as a sacrificial offering and are swallowed by God. Aaron is represented as silent in the following moment, as God dictates that God will be sanctified through these two boys, saying בקרובי אקדש ועל-פני כל-העם אכבד. The Torah continues with the disposal of the bodies, and in verse eight, God begins speaking directly to Aaron, telling him the rules of what he can and cannot imbibe.

However, looking back at 10:3, Aaron has still not uttered a word. Why not? Is he silent because of his leadership role? Or, is he reacting to Moses’ retelling of God’s chilling words that he will lose his sons to God?

Most of the medieval commentators had different interpretations of Aaron’s silence. Rashi says Aaron is silent in order to receive a reward - aשכר טוב על השתיקה. Instead of blaming Aaron, Rashi suggests that Aaron directly received the gift of the word of God, which until that moment had only come to him through Moses. Aaron might suffer from the deaths of his sons, but the reward is greater than the pain.

I disagree with Rashi and am inclined to agree with Ramban who offers two suggestions for why Aaron is silent. One is that הוא בכה ואחר-כך הוא וידם, he was crying loudly and ceased once Moses stopped talking. He listens. The other interpretation, using Lamentations 2:18, אל תדום בת-עיניך, saying, don’t let the apple of your eye cease, is that the word וידם actually means cessation and not silence. Aaron stops crying but isn’t silent. Ramban’s assertion is that Aaron must grieve privately, not that he must cease his pain.

    Another interpretation from Midrash גור אריה (vayikor yud bet, bet) suggests that Aaron is silent because Moses had already told him of his sons’ impending deaths and he had time to process the pain. He didn’t need to call out. Ramban still seems to have the strongest argument, as pain is pain, even when expected!

    A more humanizing interpretation comes from Matthew Berkowitz of JTS. He suggests that Aaron is silent in a moment of humility, showing him t as a role model for how to bear pain and mourn. Ron Wolfson, writes that the bible often shows people wailing in pain. Yet he also writes that when people first hearof a familial loss they go into shock and often don’t know their emotions or just go through the motions. It would seem that is Aaron’s fate. Aaron is distraught over his son’s deaths. His silence is not passive acceptance or anticipation of a reward. Rather, it is him taking a moment to internalize the memory of his son’s.

    In our lives as Jewish professionals, we will often work with individuals who have suffered harrowing losses. Our job, which we see from Aaron, is both to allow the outburst of tears, anger, frustrations – whatever emotions we may find peope displaying – and give them time to recall the positives of the deceased individual’s life. Not only that, but we must be the example, caring for our own grief as well. Aaron takes the opportunity to mourn, however short it is, in order to continue on in his role as high priest. We too, have and will continue to have taxing roles in our community. However, unlike Aaron, we must recognize that it is not only acceptable, but necessary to take the time to grieve appropriately. Wolfson suggests that only when one takes the time to grieve, can life move on. Otherwise, one remains stuck in a constant dead-hold of depression and denial.

    Therefore, we must recommend, both to others and ourselves, that time is necessary when it comes to grief and mourning. The initial outburst, as well as the after-effect of shock or other emotions are all normal. They should be cared for delicately, and only after the fact can one truly return to everyday life. Aaron teaches that life moves on, but we must listen to our hearts and pause a moment or many moments to recognize our sorrow. In the periods of שבעה, שלושים, ירצית, יזכור, we slowly return to our lives. We return to our lives having taken care of the pain we felt. We allow the pain to continue, but in doing so, we also make room for the memories of our loved ones. We take Aaron’s example and learn to continue on, but as we do, we will always remember.

Somber silence

             At ten minutes to eight this evening, we heard a voice calling for silence. We were walking through the parking lot, just arriving at the tekes being held by the local Israeli scouts, near Gan Sacher. We walked into the open square to see burlap wrapped wire supported by giant wooden frames, tied together with rope and protected by aluminum foil.

            The square was filled with people of all ages, chatting quietly among themselves. As the disembodied voice announced that it was ready to begin, people started to quiet down and turn their attention to the front.

            Five minutes to 8, all was quiet. There was a little whispering, but for the most part we just waited. As 8 o’clock struck, we heard the siren wind up and begin to wail. Immediately, everyone took a solid stance and turned their gaze slightly downward, as if in prayer. Almost nobody moved.

            For a minute, everyone stood just so. Everyone remembered.

            The poignancy of that moment cannot be described. Just imagining everyone feeling the one degree of separation from death in this country is beyond my capacities. Each and every person feels some pain on this day. Even the outsiders can feel the mourning and grief experienced. But everyone is silent – even the little boy next to me, full of questions for his tired mother, stands in silence and listens, waiting.

            I stood there and bowed my head as well, feeling something stirring within me. It was pain and the need to mourn, but something else, a sense of pride. Pride in this country, in this incredibly, resilient people. Pride in being a part of a group that cares so much about collective memory and identity, actually takes the time to ensure that this memory is formed and revitalized every year. Pride in the unity that I experienced.

            The individual stories of people who died, the specific Kaddish recited on this Yom HaZikron, Kaddish Yatom as a blanket memorial prayer. The songs and poems written about loved ones, friends, neighbors, countrymen. The entire country feels the power of these words. And knows that memory is one of the most powerful ways of continuing on.

            I will always remember the sound of that siren, of the silence in the square. I will remember the flag at half-mast and the collective mourning this country experiences. I will remember, and I will live out the blessings that show tribute to the lives of those who died so I could live in this country.

Mea Shearim: A world within a world

I'm reminded of the song from fiddler on the roof: at three I started Hebrew school at five I...." Although I don't necessarily remember the words of the song, the idea is of importance. Starting at the age of three, orthodox, but especially Haredi children have their first hair cut, begin wearing Tzitzit katon and peyus, and most port antsy, start going to school. The learning process is not held off until the rest of the worlds kindergarten, but rather begins at three.

The father brings his son into the school, wrapped in his Tzitzit, eyes covered for fear he will learn bad ways. In the school, he does not even have a ball to tempt him into the other, secular world. Rather, he must learn the ways of his forefathers, first learning the aleph bet and slowly immersing himself in the words of Torah and the rest of tradition. By the time a child is six, he will have learned all of berashit and shemot (genesis and exodus) by heart. He learns the words as well as the commentary associated with it. And  the time he is bar mitzvah age, he know the tanach as well as Talmud and Mishna by heart. Then, it's off to yeshiva to do the real learning and debating. Although I'm really not sure what they learn there...maybe ,rabbinic commentary?

Regardless, this knowledge comes from today's visit to Mea Shearim, which it turns t is much smaller than I initially realized. The neighborhood itself is a cross section of the ultra-orthodox world, representing Haredim, Litvaks (ultra orthodox from Lithuania), mitnagdim, and chasidim. Each group has their own special way of dressing and interacting with the general public (as Michael Marmur said at the beginning of the year, there are many different shades of black). Some may avoid a female gaze while others simply want to inform.

The neighborhood itself is full of small alleyways and men coming in and out of the synagogue all throughout the day. At all times, for the most part, there is a minyan, ten people, prepared to daven together. The mikvah being located right next door is convenient, and offers the members of the community their daily necessity of cleansing (and gossip) before they are ready for the day. Directly across the street are two schools, one lLitvak and one Haredi. We entered the Litvak one and were immediately assaulted by loud screaming. Turns out the children were on a break and playing on their playground located in the dirt center of the three story building. The building , with rooms on each side, contains classrooms the size of a small dorm room, with as many as thirty children stuffed into benches, seated with the Chumash on the thin table in front of them. They chant along in unison with the rabbi, their teacher, as he translates the Hebrew or Aramaic into Yiddish. All the learning is in Yiddish, although outside of the classroom it would seem everyone speaks Hebrew.

The synagogue itself is a work of beauty, with the ceiling painted in the style brought over from Lithuania, with the names of the months on one half of the ceiling and the names of the twelve tribes of Israel on the other. Next to each is either the zodiac sign associated with the month or the symbol associated with the specific tribe. The room itself is set up for hevruta study, with benches facing each other and a table in between. A few pairs of old men and young boys sat opposite one another, engaging in reading and dialogue, but the room  a mostly empty. However, from the looks of the books strewn across the tables, Torah study or Talmud was a regular practice in this space.

Most surprising to me was our ability to walk into this building, no questions asked. Although we were with a former member of Mea Shearim, I still didn't expect to be able to walk in and peek around. Yet peek we did, as the children peeked back at us from behind their hands. The wide array of white, blue, gray, and black that stared back at us was unsurprising, but for its openness.

The principal came up to us on the stairs and started talking about the school, about the importance of teaching these children from a young age and what exactly is taught. It turns out that the children learn math and grammar, but only at a young age and only until a basic level of understanding. They learn how to add subtract, multiply and divide, using fractions and decimals, but after that there is no need. They will be learning for most of their lives and therefore don't need to engage in what the rabbi called לימודי חול, or secular learning.

Previous to this encounter, we passed a girls school, which is supposedly one of the last remaining schools of its kind. It is taught only in Yiddish and goes up until the ae of 16 or 17, when a girl is suitable to start finding a husband, or being attached to her chosen match. The school's main purpose is to teach a girl what she will need to know in married life: sewing, cooking, knitting, laundry, family expenses. She may learn a very selected version of history, and maybe math, but there will be no Talmud study. Not funded by the government, this is a very extreme version of ultra-orthodox education. The more popular kind of learning for females is at beit yaakov, which is partially government funded and therefore teaches more of the secular subjects.

Showing up in my jeans skirt past my knees and long sleeved purple shirt, I thought I was dressed modestly. It turns out that it wasn't what they consider modest, due to the colors in my clothing and the length of my skirt, not to mention a small part of my chest showing. Although I am aware that this is the lifestyle that has been chosen, as a way to remain connected to what they consider the true way of practicing Judaism, I became immediately sure that this was not the world I wanted to live in, nor was it the world in which I was prepared to raise a family. Jewish values are important to me and always will be important, but so is the modern world. Technology is an asset in the world (for the most part) and I believe that as Jews, but also as people, we have a responsibility to participate with the rest of the world in making this a better world in which to live. If they want the messiah or messianic age to come, how is studying Torah going to bring that about? What will the words on the page do to make this world better? Studying Torah and learning Judaics is a way of looking at the world, of developing a belief system, but there is more to life than that. It is our responsibility to take what we learned and then go out into the world and affect change from our own actions. We must, as Ghandi said, be the change we wish to see in the world. Only then can we start to see what a messianic age might look like and how we can be a part of it.

Being a reform rabbi may not be the path I need to take to get to affecting that change. However, people will always need counselors and therapists, people who are both spiritual and secular guides as they traverse the confusing world. That in and of itself is helping make the world a better place, both directly and indirectly. Indirectly, it is helping people find the greater wholeness inside of them to do good and directly it is helping them believe in a power that is greater than themselves. Prayer is a way to connect, to feel a community around you. And that allow one to know that he or she is not alone in the task of making the world better. Is it my destiny to be a rabbi...that is yet to be seen. But it is my destiny to help others and touch the lives of those around me. And that I am looking forward to doing.

God is...

Not an easy topic, but one I broached a few weeks ago with a classmate. Here were some of the musings I ended up with

God created the world, in six days, God created. On the seventh day, God rested. But what does the whole creation aspect actually mean? Even more than that, what does it mean that God created these things and continues to create it? The seasons, the weather, the earth-all these things are parts of the world that none of us has active agency in creating. We are partners in continuing to engage with the world and often act to destroy the beauty which God created, but how?

Seriously, how is it that the sun, the rain, the moon, the stars, the ground and everything else came to exist. We certainly don't have any say in what happens with the weather or the land. We can impact it with global warming or with other human agency, but the basic tenants that make earth inhabitable are not created by human agency. These things happen whether we want them to or not (and humanity as a whole sometimes seems dead set on destroying the world that was created for them.

Maybe that is what is meant when the Torah says we are made בצלם אלוהים, in the image of God. The point is that we are partners with God, created also by God's hand in order to further the rest of the world's beauty. We have the choice (arguably) to continue to work as God's partner or to throw out all of that ability and challenge the work of God. In addition, we can challenge God in a positive or a negative way. I can continue to help people and be nice, but challenge the idea of free choice or challenge my relationship with other people, but I am not actively engaging in a decision to make the world a less whole and happy place.

So, maybe God is in everything. If I complicate matters of my own personal connection to the world by saying that God is involved in everything, I am also a part of God's creation. I am Godly. Wow. Not something I have ever felt comfortable with, but something I am going to learn how to consider.

Ride for Reform!! Wooooo!

Wow! Although it seems there are no words to sum up this past week, there are more words than for what I know the arrangements of letters. My mind is still boggled, three days later, that I biked over 150 miles, from Metulla to just North of Cesarea. The ability of the body to adapt and work with what it has, with the circumstances we throw at it is incredible and I am impressed and amazed that I made it. Sure, I had to walk some of the way, but I made it nonetheless.
To see the route we took, click here!

Some highlights.

The rides unofficial, official lay leader, Avi Miron, was unbelievably supportive. Within the first twenty minutes, when I was struggling to make my way up a hill that was at a greater angle than 40 degrees, Avi came up behind me and told me to do it at an angle. Instead of fighting of the hill, I needed to use the hill to my advantage. I could take the incredibly sharp angle of the hill in a more reasonable fashion, one that would allow me to both conserve energy AND make it up the hill. Lo and behold, that hill and many others were conquered.

As per usual with me and physical activity, I was often at the front of the pack. One might think its because I always want to be first. In actuality, I discovered its my fear of falling behind. Each time I was not near the front, especially near the end of the day, I let my exhaustion overcome me and slowed down considerably. Remaining near the front did not allow me that luxury and therefore maintained my momentum and excitement.

My mom is incredibly awesome and a great role model. Although I've been told this my whole life, I was given the opportunity to see first hand how incredible she is. I watched her support every one of my classmates in a different way, demonstrating that even someone who did not train fully or was suffering from  personal pain could conquer each of the obstacles we faced. She handed out protein, walked the hill from hell (כוכב הירדן-which translates to star of the Jordan, but should be hell-hill of the Jordan)

כוכב הירדן- holy moly! Never before in the history of physical activity have I been unsure that I could do something. Even walking up part of the mountain didn't help me catch my breath. Yet, I made it. Somewhere along the way, I caught up with Chase. That guy is a beast and I could not have made it up the mountain without his support every time we passed each other. Plus, the fact that when he told Ziv, our medic, that he was making it up that mountain or getting carried off dead, Ziv commented off-handedly that he had a body bag in the back of his trackbulance. Hilarious!

Noam and I, beat!

Noam Miron: never have I met a more stubborn or supportive individual at the ripe age of 23. His perseverance and stamina was incredible, and incredibly annoying (although truly inspiring). Every time I thought I was going to fall off my bike and not get back up, he would ride up behind me and give me gentle instruction on a way to make it easier (go into the lowest gear and go slowly, don't waste your energy trying to race up the hill). And then, going down hill, when I would be following him, he'd warn me not to follow to close, in case I accidentally lose sight of where I need to ride next (my not listening resulted in one of my three falls). Truly, he had my back and watched out for me, even from in front of me.

Noam, Nissim, and Avi: Truly an incredible leadership team

Nissim: the coolest guide around, even if he did constantly tell me to slow down and be careful. But I know he had my best interests at heart and I'll forgive him. Besides, the thought provoking questions he posed, inquiring as to what Reform Judaism has to say in terms of Halacha, why we studied Talmud and Mishna if we didn't think it was binding, and what reform rabbis say with regard to individual questions if there isn't a universal correct answer. We're just like Orthodox Jews, each rabbi with his or her own interpretation, except we may not be interpreting the Torah and Tanach in order to find it.

The crazy guys!

Scott Gellman and Chase Foster: my riding buddies, you are incredible. Each time I needed support, I had one if you behind me making a crude joke. Lets just say I'm glad to be one of the guys. Although I wanted to kill Scott for being so strong, I appreciated his go to it attitude and the fact that he stayed in the bike despite feeling sick. Oh yeah, and flipping over his handlebars twice, once because of dogs in his way, another because of a rock (although on the fourth day, so he spent most of the time NOT falling). And Chase made it through almost the whole ride without falling, only to fall into a small rock that he hit at a slightly wrong angle. These guys truly kept me going (and somehow convinced me that I can stay in Israel next year, that it is actually a good idea!

Ted Dreier is a true mensch. Not only did he fall and scrape up his hands really badly, but he also fell on his face. He knew he was going too fast and didn't care, so kept going anyway (the down hill was particularly spectacular, so I don't fault him for it! But he got right back up and kept trucking.

One of many bruises. Looks even better today!

Falling isn't something I enjoy, nor is it something I would recommend. However, I did get some great experiences out of it. Who can say they have fallen in two dimensions, on flat ground, and in order to avoid falling? The first fall was not awful, just me following Noam and not seeing the drop in time to avoid swerving. I sat on the edge of a broken piece of cement, teetered, and fell. Chase said only I would fall in two dimensions... The second fall was the last painful and the least real fall. I had just come out of a giant muddy hole and was peddling out when I lost my footing. I reached my hand out to catch the fall and ended up scraping my leg... The last fall was by far the worst. I've learned not to flirt while on a bike. One, because you get too close to someone and two because you are normally the one who suffers. I was the one who fell over. That was a dooZey and hurt the most. I got a nasty cut on my elbow, hit my head, and bruised my right hip righteously. However, it was totally worth it for the hilarity and teasing that ensued. I mean, come in, I at least get some wicked battle scars in which I can take pride!

The ride itself was beautiful. Being in nature for five days was a much needed reprieve from the tedium of living in the city. As much as I love Jerusalem, I need to get away from the city every so often and breath fresh air. The flowers were in rare form, popping up everywhere due to the wetter than average rains this winter. The cows were everywhere, even following us until Noam threatened them as his dinner (he didn't want to carry it, but did eat meat every night for dinner).

Nor have I eaten this well in all my time in Israel! Oh my goodness, I could have gotten used to that, but instead, I will go back to Jerusalem and begin to experiment in my OWN kitchen.

The living situation was also pretty spectacular. All I'm saying is that I want a loft in my house! They are awesome and incredibly cozy. However, getting three beds up an incredibly narrow staircase seems rather improbable. Obviously, they did it in Israel, which means it is totally feasible....

The last and most important thing is that I made a decision for next year. I am not going back to Cincinnati next year. Instead, I am going to stay and study at Pardes, doing the kind of learning I've discovered that I truly love. I get to do indepth study of the holidays and have a more permanent hevruta! Plus, I get to stay in Israel, using my Hebrew and remaining in this place which I truly love. This ride cemented it, helping me recognize that I have so much of my life ahead of me and need to live. There is no rush to finish Rabbinical school, to be a rabbi by the time I'm 27. I m ready to take my life into my own hands, make a decision, completely selfishly, for me. And that decision is to stay in this country which I have grown to love so much. I miss friends and family, but I know without a doubt that I need to stay in this place, to wrestle with the demons it draws forth from me and truly take hold of my life.

More amazing people helped make this ride possible. Don't worry, they will be mentioned in a few days, once school is not going to bury me alive! Some highlights (whom I cannot forget, ever) include: Ayala Miron, Noa Meir and Shannah Z, Noa and Hadas, and many more!