Show you care

Parshat Vayigash, Genesis 44:18-47:27

This week, my fingers feel as though they have been attached to the keyboard, what with finals and CPE (clinical pastoral education) applications. My left index finger even feels like it might have been strained somehow. Therefore, instead of some meaningful or powerful insights for this week, I want to suggest we all be thankful. Because that is what this parsha is all about: family and appreciating them.

Having lost my grandfather last Thursday, I got to experience ALMOST all of my dad's siblings, their spouses, their kids, and my grandmother in one place. We missed Zayde, but he would have loved that we were all together. Joseph is finally tells his brothers who he really is and is reacquainted with his father, Jacob. The feeling of homecoming I felt Saturday night might be akin to how Joseph felt. Bringing people together is important. Telling them that you love them is imperative.

This Shabbat, tell those important in your life that you care. Hug them a little tighter. Make an effort to be together.

Shabbat Shalom.

Zayde, Chanukkah, and Miketz

Tonight is the 4th night of Chanukkah. Having heard two nights ago that my grandfather, David Dalke, whom we all lovingly called Zayde, passed away, I was challenged by the idea of both celebrating Chanukkah and discussing these miracles, when I felt that his passing only brought sadness to my world. In some cases, that is true: he was a beautiful soul and I loved him dearly, but he was in pain, and now I know he has found respite. Yet I also recognize that he would want me to celebrate Chanukkah in the only way he knew how: loudly, proudly, and with a drink in hand (I think I’ll skip out on that last part).

This evening, as I stand (here) on the pulpit [in Billings, MT to lead Congregation Beth Aaron] in T’fillah (prayer) and song, accompanied by my mother (who was already planning to come in for the weekend), I will channel Zayde’s passion for Judaism. He loved it, even as he slept through Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur services, his long legs unfolded in the isle of B’nai Jehudah, being nudged awake by Bubbe when he started to snore. Music will hopefully resonate in the sanctuary and then voices in the social hall as this building fills up with joyous people and excitement for this festival of lights.

With all that, I am reminded of a verse from this week’s parsha, Parshat Miketz. A continuation of the Joseph story, beginning with Joseph interpreting Pharaoh’s dreams (and becoming Pharaoh’s second in command) and concluding with Joseph’s testing of his brothers. He wants to see that his brothers have changed and are not the same men who tricked him in last week’s installment. Joseph accuses them of being spies, keeps Simeon as collateral and sends the brothers back to bring Benjamin to Egypt. They finally bring him, only to have Benjamin accused of stealing Joseph’s goblet of power. And that’s where the parsha leaves off for the week.

However the verse that stands out is one of Jacob’s. Jacob, a curmudgeon who loves Joseph more than his brothers and then Benjamin as his replacement when Jacob is told of Joseph’s “death”, is reticent to send his new favorite son to Egypt lest he be killed as well and not return. Knowing that he has no choice, Jacob relents and begins by telling the brothers, “If it must be so, do this,” wherein he begins to lay out the plan for how the brothers are supposed to go and brings gifts to put them at the mercy of the Egyptians (Gen 43:11). Jacob concludes his explanation with some choice words: "k’asher shakhalti shakholti” if I am to be bereaved, I shall be bereaved (Gen 43:14). He concludes by acknowledging the lack of power he has in the situation and putting the situation - ultimately - in God’s hands. He acquiesces.

This trust in God is not necessarily something I got from Zayde. He was always moving forward with the belief that you had to do your own thing and believe in yourself. That only then would you gain reward in this world and find what you are looking for. I respect that. But I also see the power in understanding that sometimes we have to turn ourselves over to the fate of the world and understand that life happens and doesn’t always make sense. Zayde taught me to enjoy the wind blowing and the changing of the tides, to fly my kite whenever I found the time and to enjoy the good parts of life (otherwise, according to him, what was the point?). Jacob is trying to enjoy life and in the end, must succumb to unforeseeable and rather difficult circumstances. He does it by acquiescing to God’s power. Just like the Maccabees.

The Maccabees won the war with the Greek’s in 167 BCE, short on man power, but strong on belief in God and themselves. As Margaret Mead, an American cultural anthropologist wrote, “Never doubt that a small group of dedicated [individuals] can change the world. In fact, it is the only thing that ever has.” They banded together and conquered the large Greek army, not succumbing to defeat, but rather agreeing to feel God’s power. In so doing, they allowed themselves to be strong and powerful together with God, and bring us what is now our festival of light. Zayde was like one of those Maccabees. He was determined to change the world, in his own way. He told you when you were wrong. He argued until you left the room or agreed with his point. Although he didn’t leave fate to God’s hands, he was like the Maccabee’s in that he never gave up on his beliefs and was difficult if not impossible to steer from his steadfast opinions. He was my grandfather, and tonight I light the Chanukkah candles for him, for the light he brought into my life and the dedication he, like the Maccabees, demonstrated.

Shabbat Shalom and Happy Chanukkah

Two Jews, three opinions

This is one of my favorite parshiot. Maybe because I learned it in depth, but more likely because I get to learn so much each time I engage with it. It is rife with ideas and commentary, and most importantly starts off in Genesis 37:2 a most strange way: אלה תולדות יעקב יוסף בן שבע עשר (Aleh Toldot Ya'akov; Yosef ben sh'va esar). These are the generations of of Isaac, Jospeh was 17 years old. We would expect to hear about the multitudes of generations of Isaac, yet instead we hear about Jacob.

What is this about? The other 11 brothers aren't mentioned here, especially when Joseph isn't even the first-born son! After listening to many different people's commentaries this week, I have discovered the common Jewish aphorism, "Two Jews, three opinions" to be an apt representation. Each person had a different thought:

• Joseph is the most important, we don't need to hear about any others.
• This is actually the story of Joseph and we need to name Jacob as the father and then move on.
• This is a prime example of multiple authors, and evidence that they didn't mesh the stories they wove together seamlessly enough.
• The brothers aren't mentioned to demonstrate that they will have many occasions where they will be forced to contend with Joseph
• This is a story, we don't need all the facts.

Although not perfect on their own, each of these ideas are fascinating and demonstrate something about the text and the Joseph story. Instead of delving into them however, I invite you to explore this parsha and see what meaning you have for this strange verse. I will leave you with this: maybe, we do not need to remember the names of the brothers, but rather their story. That is what is being sown for us here. Now, go and reep.

Torah Parsha Challenge

Parshat VaYeishev

Genesis 37:1-40:23

Summary: The beginning of Joseph! Jacob loves Joseph more, which makes Joseph’s brothers angry. Even more aggravating are Joseph’s dreams where he predicts ruling over those same brothers. They decide to sell Joseph into slavery in Egypt. Aside chapter of Tamar disguising herself as a prostitute and sleeping with her father-in-law-Judah. Potiphar’s wife tries to seduce Joseph, he refuses, she has him sent to prison after accusing him of trying to rape her. Pharaoh’s baker and butler have dreams in prison which Joseph interprets.

Beginning of Parsha

37:2 These are the generations of Jacob—Joseph, being seventeen years old, was feeding the flock with his brothers, still a boy with the sons of Bilhah, and with the sons of Zilpah, his father's wives; and Joseph brought evil report of them to their father.

The parsha starts out normally enough: These are the generations of Jacob. From there, we assume that we will get a generational expansion, so we know his children and who bore them. Yet instead, the reader is immediately faced with Joseph.

Questions:

1. Why does the literary author not include all the generations of Jacob? (Are they unimportant? Are we expected to know them already? Is Joseph the only son?)

2. Joseph is constantly upheld as the “favorite” son. He is given a striped coat (or coat of many colors), interprets dreams, and Jacob grieves when told his son has “died.” If you read the rest of Chapter 37 (http://www.mechon-mamre.org/p/pt/pt0137.htm), does this inform Gen 37:2? Possibly, this innovation isn’t about the names, but about the stories, where Joseph is the focal point for all stories about the brothers. If that is the case, does Joseph do an effective job carrying the story? Why do we or do we not want him as our protagonist from here until the end of Genesis?

Judah and Tamar, Chapter 38

This chapter doesn’t make sense in the greater scheme of the parsha. Instead of following the story that we start with, we see the story of Judah and Tamar. Brief synopsis: Tamar is married to Judah’s son, he dies, she marries the next one, he dies and Judah will not give Tamar his last son to marry. Tamar gets frustrated, dresses herself as a prostitute, and goes to Einaim. Judah engages her services and agrees to pay her with a goat. However, Judah had to bring the goat at a later time, so he left his staff and seal with her. When Judah sent for his stuff, no one could find the prostitute.

Three months later, Tamar is accused of prostitution and Judah orders her burned to death. She sends Judah the staff and seal, saying that the owner of these things is responsible for the pregnancy. Recognizing his things, Judah takes back the burn order and Tamar’s place in the family is set. Tamar has twin sons, Zerah and Peretz.

The entirety of this chapter is strange, as it is an aside. Not only that, Judah has demonstrated that he is not one of the good sons of Jacob.

Questions:

1. Therefore, what is the point of this story in the context of the Joseph narrative? What change(s) do(es) Judah undergo that makes him different later on? What can we learn from his behavior to help us in our lives?

2. Tamar has twin sons, and although Zerah’s hand emerges first (the midwife ties a red string around it so they know), Perez is born first. What other births does this remind us of (think the previous few parshiot)? Why is it important who is born first? 

Grateful Goals

I didn't post this past SHabbat. It actually feels fitting, with how school and finals and December have all kicked into full gear. However, I was reminded recently of the importance of remembering the good in our lives, in seeing that there are always positives we can find. Even more, by rediscovering the positive, we can actually begin to empower ourselves to see that positive and live it in our daily lives:

• My community: I get to learn with 10 other members of a cohort who are considerate, passionate, caring and knowledgeable. Each day I have the opportunity to delve into the multiplicity manners of learning and engaging information and therefore glean more than I would independently. They challenge me, probe me, question me, support me, and give me the space to learn and grow. Without them, I couldn't and wouldn't be as strong.
• My teachers: most of the teachers here are so knowledgeable and passionate that they instill within me and my fellow classmates that flame, in order to go learn more on our own.
• My health: I am healthy and strong, able to be active and move and engage with the world around me.
• Fear: fear is healthy. I am fearful of what I am learning, of what it means for me and my future. But that fear makes me work harder, makes me take more risks and delve deeper. Without it, I would be stale and stuck.
• Shelter, Food, Water: My fourth graders reminded me a few weeks ago that these are blessings. While I know they are lowest on Maslow's hierarchy of needs, they are also imperative to the rest of my life being successful. Therefore, I recognize how wonderful it is that I don't even need to worry about these aspects of life and therefore can focus on deeper and more complex things.
• My students: Each week I have the honor of engaging students in conversations about God and Judaism. They constantly ask questions that intrigue and challenge me, making me willing and able to dig deeper into my own beliefs. I would not be as excited for each week if not for their curiosity and openness.
• My friends: Moving to a new city, I constantly struggle with finding people with whom I connect and how to do so. The people whom I have met and become close to have become rocks, those to whom I turn when I need a break. Although many come from within the walls of HUC, all of them have brought meaning and beautiful thoughts to light. They encourage me and therefore allow me to feel like myself.

With all of these, I am able to grow and become stronger. Many other factors contribute, and I cannot wait to explore what those are as well.

What good is life to me?

The following is the D'var Torah I will share tonight at Congregation Beth Aaron, in Billings, MT

I’m going to share with you two stories about events that occurred this week which shook me to my core, making me question my faith and my purpose here on earth.

I don’t usually air my opinions in public, my friend wrote. But what happened this morning was atrocious. On the bus to the old city for work at a Christian-Arab school, we came to a stand-still. After twenty minutes of this, the bus driver came over the speaker and told us that something had happened at a synagogue around the corner, and 4 people were dead (the final count is that 5 people were killed, as well as the two assailants and a police officer).

I changed buses, knowing that I needed to go in the opposite direction and my bus was not going to arrive in time. Arriving in the old city, I waited for a friend so we could walk together into the Armenian quarter. There had been a stabbing a week or so earlier and our defenses were on edge.

I’m going to teach my students, she concluded. My Arab-Christian students. They are still children who need to learn. And when I finish, I will head to my Arabic class.

This statement embodied my experience in Israel. Feeling my heart skip a beat when I awoke to a story of a terror attack, or had a class interrupted by the news alert that Jews had been killed somewhere in Israel was not unfamiliar. But my heart still skipped a beat each time I heard something. My heart skipped also on Monday night, when I heard of these 4 religious men dying in the midst of their prayers on Tuesday morning. Yet my heart  returned to a more normal cadence when I heard that my friend still went to work that day. That she was even more committed to learning Arabic. My friend was giving and grounding herself in the future. She was continuing on with life.

~ ~ ~

“How do you speak to God?” asked one of my fourth graders at the beginning of religious school on Monday. He continued, “how do we know that God is listening? How do we know that God exists?”

Listening to those questions I was floored. My 4th grader was able to articulate one of the questions that confounds the mind of many Jews, many people. As we continued with an impromptu theology discussion, my students asked phenomenal questions. They wanted to know if God exists; why God exists, and how to know. But they also had answers.

These fourth graders, who often blurt out answers without thinking, were thoughtful and each had different specific answers for how to know God was listening: they saw signs, they felt something inside, something good happened. Their answers were as diverse and characteristic of many adults with which I have interacted.

How could my fourth graders, who often cannot spell the word Shabbat or excited, ask such profound questions and excite so much passion in me with a single set of questions? They asked the questions I have had over the years, curiosities about God’s very existence and God’s presence in my own life. 

My passion was ignited, but I didn’t know how to effectively help these students explore God, because I don’t necessarily have the answers myself. How did I ensure that I didn’t squash their curiosity but allow the fire to grow and develop, allowing them to blossom into knowledgable Jews? I saw a future of creativity, of insight, and of Jewish passion, even if I was unsure how to provide it.

Both of these stories impacted me on a visceral level. As with many of us, I am continually in search of meaning. I knew that both of these moments were important to my discovery process. People were dead. God was actively being sought out. I was engaged in the conversation.

Ultimately, and as life often does, both of these events connect us directly back to the tales our Torah weaves. The idea that we are seized by life’s moments so profoundly that they shake us to our core is not lost on the storytellers that crafted our Torah. They masterfully understood that life’s moments affect us and wrote vignettes that exemplify this. Their stories are meaningful because they are deeply human. In this week’s Parasha, a mother is deeply impacted by the birth of her children and then by the decisions she must make about their destiny. 

Contained in the text are two moments when the mother, Rebecca contends with God. In the first, Rebecca is not able to become pregnant and Isaac pleads with God to bring them children. God answers his prayers and Rebecca, for the first time, is pregnant with twins. Yet she is frustrated by the violent struggle the twins are enacting within her womb. Confused and in pain, she approaches God, wondering why this is her lot in life. She doesn’t know that these two boys will one day become fathers of great nations, or that there is a reason for their struggles inside of her. Instead, Rebecca inquires, “If [this struggle] is so, why do I exist.” (25:22)

The second moment where Rebecca is questioning God is when she asks God, “What good will life be to me.” (27:46) This inquiry comes from a place of despair, with Rebecca contemplating the fate of her son Jacob. Rebecca knows that Jacob must be saved from Esau, that Jacob stole the birthright from Esau and Esau is angry, but also that Jacob must get married to fulfill the blessing his father bestowed upon him. Jacob must marry a good woman who will be his partner in carrying out the covenantal blessing.

Both of these moments are also visceral responses to emotional experiences. In fact, they have the same core meaning, asking the questions: what purpose is there in this pain? And if [I] have the pain, why do I exist? In the midst of pain, Rebecca struggles to maintain her composure and blurts out her frustration to God, to Isaac. She desires a solution and gets responses from both God and her husband.

First, God answers her, providing a pithy oracle that Rebecca is carrying two sons, two nations within her womb. Rebecca gains salve for her pain. She knows that something will come from this anguish, that she will have a future. More importantly, Rebecca knows that her legacy will be in her sons, that they will each do something important with their lives. This is the future her womb will bear, which allows Rebecca to continue on with her pregnancy and handle the pain the struggle entails.

The second scenario, where Rebecca implores God: “I cannot bear this, what good is my life if [my son marries a Hitite woman]?” is also followed by a response. The solution is provided by Isaac, who ultimately agrees that Jacob should go to Rebecca’s brother, Laban and find a wife there. Here too, Rebecca feels that her worries have been heard and that there will be a future for her son.

“Why do I exist? What good is life to me?” As Rebecca asks these existential human questions, she receives responses. These solutions allow Rebecca to continue on and feel that she has been answered, that there is a future.

In fact, these solutions provide resolve for the bigger existential questions. The questions being “Why do I exist? and What good is life to me?” These solutions each have a unique trait in common. Besides being one and the same, these solutions offer a future for Rebecca. They offer her an opportunity to see that her life’s purpose is the future, her future, in her sons.

Fast forward to Monday, with the two experiences I shared. We are left reeling after the news of what occurred in Jerusalem, asking these same questions: “Why do I exist? What good is life to me?” I am left struggling with my student’s questions.

Why do I exist? What’s next? These were the questions that penetrated my soul after hearing the news of the attack. I sat dumbstruck, unsure what to do or how to move forward. People were dead and I didn’t know what to do.

What good is my life [if I cannot answer these students]? My fourth graders asked me questions to which I did not have solid answers. I felt unequipped to handle their curiosity, but knew they would not be content with a response of “I don’t know, let me find out.”

In my struggle, I didn’t act like Rebecca and turn to God or a fellow human, but I recognized that the answer had already been provided to me. Each of the unique stories I experienced/witnessed on Monday had ready-made solutions offered, if I was just able to see.

My friend, after seeing the hatred in Jerusalem, continued on. She went to work and her students, determined to teach them. She was demonstrating her commitment to the future, to instilling within young children the importance of what happens next. The solution was in providing for the future, in giving them an education that will allow them to help make the world a little less angry, a little less painful.

My fourth grade class also provided me with an answer. Having asked what good my life was if I wasn’t able to answer their inquiries, I was downtrodden and unsure. Yet from their own wisdom, they demonstrated that no matter what, my purpose is to enable them to continually ask questions. By providing them with the space to inquire and push back, I was allowing them the opportunity to develop a deeper understanding of their Jewish tradition and therefore a deeper desire to maintain connected. I was helping them commit themselves to the future.

My friend and I each found responses to these existential questions in the promise of the future. Rebecca too, found her response in what the future will hold. Each of these circumstances provided unique opportunities to take a step back from the hustle of everyday life and ask the existential questions. From that place of insight, we were and in fact, are able to explore what good our lives can serve, especially when surrounded by pain, suffering, and death.

The good that life holds is manifest in the future generation, in the next group of people who will grow up and live in this world. Rebecca found contentment in knowing that her sons would make something of themselves, and in knowing that Jacob’s destiny would be fulfilled in a positive manner. My friend was able to continue on only by looking at her students and seeing them as a positive light, as something good that will move forward. I recognized that my students were the promise of the future, my legacy that I am leaving each day I teach them.

“Why do I exist? What good is life to me?”

Our lives are full of these existential questions. Our job is to ask the questions, like Rebecca, and also like Rebecca, to look forward to the future. We must see that the future is where our lives are headed, that the next generation is the embodiment of that future.  Even more, we must facilitate the conversations that allows the next generation to grow and discover for themselves the deep meaning that life has. By discovering the power and beauty that this coming generation bears, we will be able to answer these existential questions and find meaning in our lives.

What is your commitment to the future? What will you do to ensure that your life has a purpose, that you are providing for the future?

Chayei Sarah: Liminality

(Torah challenge as sent to Congregation Beth Aaron in Billings, MT)

Parshat Chayei Sarah

Genesis 23:1-25:18

A brief summary: Sarah dies at the ripe age of 127 years old. Abraham decides to bury her in the cave of Machpela (after searching for a good place). Abraham decides to find a wife for his son Isaac and sends his servant to do so. The servant meets Rebecca at a well, where she gives him and his camels water. Lastly, Abraham marries Keurah and has six more sons, dying at the age of 175 years.

The Cave of Machpela

In Ch 23 Sarah dies and Abraham wants to bury her. He is in Hebron and asks for a piece of land. The people in Hebron want to give it to him for free, but Abraham insists on paying for it.

Why does Abraham, a man who is given multiple covenants with God and told that he will eventually inherit the land, claim to be a stranger in the land? How does that connect to his desire to buy the land where he wants to bury Sarah?

Why is it important for Abraham to buy the land, not be given it (as he receives so many other things, especially from God)?

Old Age as a Liminal Stage

Ch 24:1-9 shows Abraham rushing to ensure his son, Isaac, will have a wife. In his last few days, he makes his servant promise to find Isaac a wife. Abraham tells the servant to put his hand on Abraham’s thigh and promise to go back to Abraham’s homeland and find a wife from among his people.

Why does Abraham wait until he’s old and Sarah has passed away before finding Isaac a wife?

Why does Abraham have the servant grab his thigh to make this promise?

What is the importance of the servant going back to Abraham’s homeland? Why must Isaac’s wife not be from among the Cana’anites?

Some other thoughts on the Parsha:

There is mention of spontaneous prayer in this week’s parsha. Abraham’s servant is at the well and offers up a prayer to God. Follow this link to learn more about one Rabbi’s interpretation: http://www.myjewishlearning.com/texts/Bible/Weekly_Torah_Portion/chayeisarah_artson5759.shtml

To explore a less traditional commentary on the parsha, discussing familial relations, in particular Isaac’s reactions to his impending marriage, follow this link (there are two thoughts, the first follows what I suggested): http://limmud.org/publications/limmudononeleg/5772/chayei-sarah/

Sodom, (G)Amorah, and Veteran's Day

Here is my sermon for tonight, at Congregation Beth Aaron in Billings, MT

Parshat Va’Yeira

Destruction.

Bravery

Questioning.

Daring.

Suspense.

Victory.

Any number of things could be characterized by these 5 adjectives. In particular, a story human destruction. Or a story of about war.

Destruction. Parshat Va’yeira is a patch-work quilters dream. It includes many patches, each flimsily sown together through description and people, with Abraham as the common thread throughout. One of these patches is the story of Sodom and (G)Amorah. God decides that the people of Sodom and (G)Amorah are evil beyond redemption, and so plans to kill all of them. God shares God’s plan with Abraham, who asks God to save the people, if Abraham can find 10 righteous people within the cities. Abraham cannot, so God follows through on God’s plan, killings all inhabitants of these two cities (save for Lot and his family). The cities are left smoking, which Abraham glimpses from a distance. Destruction like the biblical world had never seen before.

Bravery. I imagine this conversation between an officer and his troops. “Men, we head out at 0500 hours. Prepare yourselves to fight for your lives, to face scenes of despair, death and destruction such that you have never encountered before. Prepare to know that you might die. Prepare to fight Germany.” So might end the training exercises on 5 June 1944, the night before D-Day, in Normandy, France.

I imagine that night, men writing letters to their wives, their girlfriends, their parents. “I love you,” they wrote. “More than anything else I can say, I love you. Do not forget me. I might die tomorrow. I’m scared. But I love you.” How many letters that resemble this were found or sent to families after the fact, physical souvenirs of a deadly day.

D-Day was not an incredibly deadly landing operation, relatively speaking. But it was an invasion of power, of unity. It demonstrated the bravery of American soldiers, fighting overseas, many in their first war ever. Most importantly, it demonstrated strength and power. Especially the power of the survivors. The Veterans.

My question for us this evening is: how are these two stories connected?

Questioning. God begins by thinking to God’s self, not knowing if God needs to share God’s plans with Abraham (Gen 18:17). If God acts independently, destroying the people of Sodom and (G)Amorah without first engaging Abraham, are there any consequences (God recognizes that Abraham is becoming God’s partner and so God has to bring Abraham into the dialogue.)

Each and every officer has the same inner-dialogue, questioning whether or not the soldiers need to know what they are about to do, what they are about to encounter. Few soldiers knew the details of their mission on D-Day. Not until they were on the boats, about to land in Normandy, France, did they begin to understand. Even then, the officers only told the soldiers what they needed to know. The soldiers, in this case, are Abraham, while the officers are God. The officers don’t want  to elicit push-back, they don’t want to intimidate or frighten the soldiers. The war needed to occur. There wasn’t time for discussion.

Daring. Once God tells Abraham the plan, as they look over into Sodom and (G)Amorah, Abraham begins to question. He says to God, “Hey God. I’ve got a problem with all this destruction. You say you want to destroy these two cities, but what’s the point? How can you do this? And besides, the people can’t be that bad, can they?”

God replies to him: “Abraham, my son, you haven’t seen as much as I have. These people have committed heavy sins and they must be punished.”

“But, God,” Abraham challenges. “How can you destroy the righteous, just people with these evil-doers? The good people didn’t do anything wrong! How can you, God, the Judge of the earth, not judge each person justly? You should save the righteous people.” (Gen 18:23, 25)

From there, God and Abraham negotiate, finally agreeing that if Abraham can find 10 righteous people in Sodom and (G)Amorah, God will not destroy the cities. Alas, these ten people cannot be found and so God destroys the cities, burning them to the ground. From here, we look forward to our soldiers, sitting in their boats on the shores of Normandy, knowing they are about to head into battle. Were our soldiers to be like Abraham, they would counter their officers’ instructions. The cacophony of “But wait, I can’t kill innocent people who get in my way?” “How long are we going to be fighting for?” and the small, voices whispering, “I’m scared” would rise up to a high crescendo. Instead, the boat turned silent after the officers’ commands. These soldiers are instilled with an understanding that when given a direct order, they must follow through on it, no questions asked.

Victory. Abraham fights back. Our soldiers were quietly accepting, even though their inner-dialogue might have been similar to Abraham’s. Each reaction is acceptable, especially given their circumstances. Both Abraham and the soldiers need to remember a quote from our tradition that reads, במקום שאין אנשים השתדל להיות איש (m. Avot 2:5). This means, in a place where there are no [righteous] people, rise up and attempt to be a [righteous] person. Abraham cannot give up on the values that God has attempted to instill in him up to this point. God wants Abraham to be a partner, which cannot occur unless God allows Abraham to actively voice opposition. Abraham has to be the righteous person that cannot be found in Sodom or (G)Amorah. He must stand up for what he believes in.

Our American war heroes, the people we will celebrate on November 11th, for Veteran’s Day, also demonstrate this Jewish aphorism. Our soldiers sit in the boats, about to land on the shores of Normandy; young men, unsure what they will meet once they step onto the sand. They are good people, determined to fight for their country. These soldiers, our soldiers, were willing to be the good people, the righteous ones. Even more so, they were drafted, yet they still fought valiantly and courageously. They are the ones who chose to fight for their country. Not just on D-Day, but throughout most of American history, the military has been a key method of displaying patriotism. That means our American war heroes are these righteous people, patriotic individuals actively supporting their home beliefs, even when others were unwilling to do so. They are the ones who choose to fight for their rights, who choose to uphold American values from their core.

Our soldiers are determined to be good people, attempting to bring peace to America and the American people, regardless of the stakes. Even more so, they fight with strength and pride, no matter their personal beliefs in the matter. In fact, our soldiers in their boats must have put aside their beliefs and come together as a collective, American troop. They strive to be those righteous people, to protect their country, to represent their country. They demonstrate another way to be righteous, by not pushing back, but by listening. By upholding a collective belief.

Abraham actively talked back to God. He contended with God and told God that he wanted to save the people. Our soldiers actively fought for their country, for America, while holding their tongues. My purpose is not to say who is correct in their actions: Abraham or the soldiers. Rather, I would like to suggest that both acted appropriately for their given circumstances. But I praise the soldiers today, for fighting for their country. They put their lives on the line and were willing to engage in battle, either on the front lines or as supporting individuals. There was a sacrifice here. They demonstrated a courage and bravery of a different sort from Abraham. There were high stakes and these individuals still went ahead and did their civic duty. These are our American heroes to whom we look up to today. These are the people we honor everyday, but especially on November 11, on Veteran’s Day.

Lech Lecha: What's in a Name?

This past week was the 12th anniversary (or 13th-I cannot remember) of my becoming a Bat Mitzvah. Although there are no monumental words I have for this occasion, I am going to suggest something. Having now spent a year exploring the parshiot, week by week, engaging the text and connecting it to my own life, not necessarily delving into commentary, this year is a little more busy. We have already read the whole of Genesis and Exodus in the past two months alone. Therefore, writing a full-blown D'var Torah may not be the most feasible thing for me each week. However, to the best of my ability, I will post my "Torah challenge," which I send weekly to my student pulpit in Billings, MT. My hope is that you find the questions I pose intriguing and meaningful.

A (belated) Shabbat Shalom!

Genesis 12:1-17:27

In this Torah portion, God makes a covenant with Abram promising to make his ancestors a great nation. God changes his name to Abraham. Abraham has a child with Hagar, and names him Ishmael. God then promises Abraham's barren wife, Sarah, that she will have a child. (1)

What’s in a Name (Part I) (Gen 16:1-16)

Children are important in the Torah. Although those crying out for children usually comes from barren women, Abram is the one who gasps to God: "What can You give me, seeing that I shall die childless?" (15:2). Abram is the first one to cry out for a child. Yet not until a chapter later is Abram’s call answered (although through Sarai’s decision).

Sarai, desperate for a son, gives her handmaid, Hagar, to Abram in order to procreate. However, Sarai gets jealous of Hagar’s pregnancy and sends her away into the wilderness. While away, she is visited by an angel who tells her in Chapter 16:11

 וַיֹּאמֶר לָהּ מַלְאַךְ יְהוָה, הִנָּךְ הָרָה וְיֹלַדְתְּ בֵּן, וְקָרָאת שְׁמוֹ יִשְׁמָעֵאל, כִּי-שָׁמַע יְהוָה אֶל-עָנְיֵךְ

And the angel of the God said to her: 'Behold, you are pregnant, and shall have a son; you shall call his name Ishmael, because God has heard your affliction.

Hagar, a woman with little significant who is despised by Sarai, is spoken to by an angel of God while she is despairing in the wilderness. The angel tells Hagar to name her son Yishmael, literally meaning God will hear.

What does it mean that God will hear? Is it referring to the past, to Hagar, or to the future, to Yishmael? If either of them are the case, how can we understand this name in context of Sarai’s hate of Hagar (does it mean God does not hear Sarai?)?

Or, can we understand this as meaning that Abram’s call was answered?

What’s in a Name (Part II)? (Gen. 17:1-16)

Sarai and Abram begin our parsha being called by these names. God sends them on a journey, intending to establish God’s covenant with them. In the end, when the covenant is established and Abram and Sarai have listened to God’s instructions, God rewards them.

Gen 17:5 וְלֹא-יִקָּרֵא עוֹד אֶת-שִׁמְךָ, אַבְרָם; וְהָיָה שִׁמְךָ אַבְרָהָם, כִּי אַב-הֲמוֹן גּוֹיִם נְתַתִּיךָ

Neither shall thy name any more be called Abram, but thy name shall be Abraham; for the father of a multitude of nations have I made thee.

Gen 17:15 וַיֹּאמֶר אֱלֹהִים, אֶל-אַבְרָהָם, שָׂרַי אִשְׁתְּךָ, לֹא-תִקְרָא אֶת-שְׁמָהּ שָׂרָי:  כִּי שָׂרָה, שְׁמָהּ

And God said unto Abraham: 'As for Sarai thy wife, thou shalt not call her name Sarai, but Sarah shall her name be.

Both Sarah and Abraham receive a ה (hey) in their name. The letter hey is the letter that shows up twice in God’s name, the tetragrammaton, yud-hey-vav-hey.

What does it mean that Sarah and Abraham are given this ה, which is part of God’s name? Who have they become, through this?

The Lubavicher Rebbe has an interesting thought on the hey added to Abraham’s name. “Up until this point, the thrust of Abraham's life was his spiritual relationship with God; from this point on it was to be his role as a leader of the masses, a teacher of the Divine truth to the “multitudes.”” Abraham’s hey is representative of the Godliness he now possesses. Now, he can pass on God’s teachings through his own life. (2)

As Reform Jews, we too can learn something from this. Do we need God to come to us and bestow us with God’s good will, or should we attempt to act, as we already know, b’tzelem Elohim, in the image of God and demonstrate Godliness from the beginning? If that is so, how do we add the Godliness into our lives and pass it on to those around us?

Another interesting thing to consider is that this section describes how we must circumcise our children and make them a part of the covenant. Only once Abraham is given his ה is he told these laws and made to do so.

How does circumcision make one part of the covenant of the Jewish people? Why is Abraham only told to do this, to circumcise himself and essentially “become” a Jew, at the end of the Parsha? What does he have to do in order to deserve the covenant?

www.myjewishlearning.com

www.chabad.org

Breathing Praise: Noach

Parshat Noah, 6:9-11:32

This week’s parsha, Parshat Noach, is another one of those jam-packed parshiot in which we can spend days or weeks thinking and discussing it, still not completing the discussion or immersing ourselves fully into the text. However, just like any other parsha, we spend a week studying it, with the culmination being on Shabbat.

Speaking of Shabbat, Alyssa Gray, a Talmudic scholar writing about Shabbat liturgy in Lawrence Hoffman’s My People’s Prayerbook, Volume 10: Shabbat Morning, comments that the words נשמת כל חי (click for English translation) (found at the end of פסוקי דזמרא, as the introduction to the concluding blessing) literally mean the breath of every living being. However, That breath is not just referring to humans. Rather, it refers to all creatures that breath the air of the earth. The proof text for that comes from our parsha this week. In Genesis 7:22, it is written that the Flood destroys everything with a “breath of life.” The very same breath of life with which every living being praises God in נשמת כל חי(Nishmat Kol Chai) (Follow link for Hebrew and musical versions of this prayer).

So then, what do these contrasts mean, especially relative to this part of the prayer service, which is all about enumerating praise for God. It would seem, that Genesis 7:22 is pointing out that God needed to destroy every living thing, even the animals, because they too were capable of doing evil and wrong. Maybe God made a mistake. In Genesis 6:6-7, we read: "And God repented that God had made man on the earth, and it grieved God in God’s heart. And Adonai said, "I will destroy man whom I have created from the face of the earth, both man and beast, and the creeping thing and the fowls of the air, for I repent that I have made them.” It would seem that God made a mistake and now is attempting to rectify it through the Flood and destruction of the earth. The classic commentator, Rashi (France, 1040-1105) has a suggestion about this: "Although it was known to God that [humans] will sin and be destroyed, God nevertheless created them for the sake of the righteous who will descend from them.” (Berashit Rabah 27:4) In that sense, it would mean that God didn’t make a mistake and instead needed to “redo” creation in order to give people a better chance to become righteous. In that sense, every living being needed to be reformed, so that their breaths could indeed praise God.

The contrast is in the praising. Everyone on earth, save for Noah, his family and then all the animals, is destroyed. The rest of the peoples had become so wicked that they could not feasibly praise God with their living breath. Therefore, God needed to render everyone incapable, by wiping them out, in order to afford them the opportunity to learn and grow again. From that, people begin to praise and acknowledge God, recognizing that God does have a place in the world and in their lives. Through the praise of God, both in this introductory segment of our morning service, and throughout our daily lives, we keep the world good and eliminate the need for another Flood or negative action of retribution by God.

Shabbat Shalom.

Bookending the Torah

Although the actual parsha for this Shabbat is Parshat Berashit (Genesis), I wanted to write about Parshat V'zot HaBrachot (This is the blessing) in conjunction with Parshat Berashit. Mostly, this is because my congregation, here in Billings, MT, is doing things a little differently than the traditional service. We are doing Simchat Torah and Shabbat, all wrapped into one. They've found at least one way to get people there!

This parsha (V'zot HaBracha) gets the short end of the stick. It’s found at the very end of the Torah, so you would think it is the most read and discussed, that we get excited when it shows up around Simchat Torah. But in fact, this year, like many years (if not all years), we don’t read it except on Simchat Torah to bookend our  yearly Torah reading. It is read as the conclusion of the Torah, with the beginning of the Torah being Genesis, the beginning. Moses has lead us through the desert and guided us as a people for almost ¾ of the Jewish year (cycle). The least we can do is acknowledge that guidance, no?

Even stranger, is the fact that this parsha is lumped in with Genesis. Or maybe, that is its beauty. It isn’t read on its own, as its own Parshat HaShavuah, weekly Torah portion, because we shouldn’t see Moses’ death as the end. Rather, we should recognize that Moses was the leader who enabled us, as the Jewish people, to begin seeing ourselves as a people. We are indeed starting over after Moses’ death; we are heading into the promised land with a new leader, not our old, beloved one. We must learn to trust ourselves. We must begin to set our own path and believe in the rightness of that path. We must start at the beginning.

Therefore, it does actually seem fitting, to go from the end and immediately back to the beginning. That’s what happened to our people. That is what happens to us: we get to experience the whole Torah again, from a new perspective, a new age, or a slightly different angle. We are given the opportunity to re-immerse ourselves in the text and learn. We are given the chance to start a new with a clean slate. How will you begin again? How will you commit to learning and growing anew? How will you commit to allowing you perspective to be changed?

Time to begin

The past three weeks have been weeks of upheaval and unrest in my life. With Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, and then Sukkot, there have been no new Torah portions read. Rather, we read the Parshiot associated with those particular days. In my own way, I have found meaning in each of these readings, and am incredibly grateful for this time to explore the text. Each reading has been beneficial.

Yet now, we are almost ready to begin again. We have looked inwards towards ourselves and found our own hearts, where we sit and how we wanted to come into the new year. And then we had Sukkot, זמן שמחתנו, the time of our happiness, the end of our harvest season. Wonderfully, that time is followed by Simchat Torah, when we celebrate the conclusion of reading the Torah and the beginning again. We are ready to begin again.

I, for one, am ready to begin again. I have done the personal reflection and have come to a place where I am at least okay with where I stand. The new year stands open and waiting. Time to take it by storm and explore what it has to offer. As the parsha says, בראשית ברא אלוהים, in the beginning, God created. God created many things, at the beginning. We've experienced the beginning of the year, the creation of new friendships and relationships. Now, I am ready to go out and explore, to find my Gan Eden, my garden of Eden and discover it.

This Simchat Torah, I look forward to doing just that. To taking a step back and seeing all the new things, the beginnings I've experienced. I look forward to exploring and discovering.

Ha'azinu: Who Shall Listen?

This week’s parsha, parshat Ha’azinu, falls on Shabbat T’shuvah, the Shabbat between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Reading the parsha earlier in the week, I was so excited to think that I had finished the Torah, that everything had happened and I had completed a year of reading each parsha, and writing a drash on it. However, when I went to look at the Torah to look something up for Torah study, I was surprised! There is a whole extra parsha after this one. Needless to say, I was slightly disappointed. But alas, in all the shuffle of the High Holidays, something had to get confused and forgotten. This is a small thing and I’ll take it.

In thinking that this is the last parsha of the Torah, I was intrigued to find that it ends with Moses going up on the mountain and dying. God tells him to do like Aaron, go up the mountain and be gathered to his kin. Moses knows, and is reminded, that Moses broke faith with God and is therefore able to see the land from a distance, but not from up close. In my world, that was how the Torah ended. A rather apex-like ending, but an incomplete one (stay tuned for next week, where the parsha is actually the last parsha in the Torah and I get to experience my excitement all over again!).

Instead, we have the continuation of an epic story. God told us last week to write down God’s words in a poem, as a reminder to the people. The words should serve as a witness to what will happen to the people if they go astray. In that song, we get four parts. The first past is God establishing God’s loving relationship with the people. The second sees the people rejecting God in favor of other deities, with other peoples. Next, God decides to decimate the people. Lastly, God relents, recognizing that if God did destroy the people Israel, other people’s might feel they were the cause of that destruction. God is humanized. In this poem, meant to guide us away from joining to the deities of other people, God in fact becomes more benevolent. Yes, God’s anger is apparent and fear is instilled in one’s heart from reading this epic poem. But God is showed as being caring, as considerate, as aware of the place of the people in the greater scheme of things. In short, God still cares about us, about the Jewish people.

As we find ourselves in the Days of Awe, the 10 days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, we are made aware of our place in history. We are made aware that God can choose to not care, to destroy us anyway (if God destroyed us, we wouldn’t be around to worry about who destroyed us!). We know that God’s hand is powerful and that God is our rock. Yet we see that God, like a benevolent parent, sees that we will slip up, that we will go astray, that we will miss the mark, whether in large or small ways. But God will not leave us completely. God will not abandon us to walk on our own, nor will God completely forget about us as God’s people.

A midrash on the parsha reflects God’s attitude.

The Holy Blessed One at times appears, and at times does not appear;
at times hears, and at times does not want to hear;
at times responds, and at times does not respond;
at times may be addressed, and at times may not be addressed;
at times may be found, and at times may not be found;
at times is near, and at times is not near.(Midrash Tanhuma, Ha’azinu 4)

I would like to argue that God is, at this time, at God’s most apparent, most able to listen and respond, most patient and ready to be addressed, most present and most near. At this time, may we discover a way to demonstrate to God that we appreciate God’s presence in our lives, and find ways to come closer to God, to not warrant the harsh punishment or decree that God does discuss in this parsha. “God avenges the blood of God’s servants,” our Torah writes in Deuteronomy 32:43. Let us warrant that God avenge us, let us warrant that God listens to us.

Shabbat shalom!

Generations with God

אתם נצבים היום כלכם לפני ה׳ אלוהיכם, “You stand here today, all of you, before God, your God.” So starts this week’s double portion, Nitzavim-Va’yeilech. God gathers all the people, in order to tell them that they will be entered into the covenant with God. This is yet another reminded that all of them, as the people Israel, even those with the littlest of tasks of abilities, have come before God to receive the covenantal agreement for the future generations. However, the rabbis ask why we have both the words אתם, plural, you all, and כלכם, all of you, in the same sentence. It seems redundant. Rashi posits that the redundancy is actually a very important aspect of this parsha. There are both the future generations and the past generations, converging in this one spot, hearing the covenant spoken one last time before Moses’ death and the people’s entrance to the land of Israel.

Interesting that this should come up right before Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Rosh Hashanah, sometimes called Yom HaZikaron, the Day of Remembrance. On this, the week before Rosh Hashanah (almost), we are made aware of the strength of the covenant. We remember those who came before us and consider those who are our future; our children or those still yet to come. We are conscious more than ever of what it means to be a part of a living people, with generational ties backwards and forwards. We again stand before Moses right before his death, while simultaneously standing at Sinai, receiving the Ten Commandments and standing firmly rooted in 5774.

We are that future people, the people who also stood and heard the words uttered by Moses to the people. We take heed of the call to remember God’s commandments and do good, to move forward with the intention to walk in the ways of the covenant, so that blessing may come upon us. We take heed of the fear of retribution, should we not recall God’s commands, knowing the harsh judgment and punishment that will come our way in its steed. We are aware of our place in history.

The timing is fitting it seems, to be reminded one last time of who we are and where we stand with God. In less than a week, we will come before God, ready to atone for the sins we have done against God, having already (hopefully) rectified the ills we have with those around us. Humbled before God, we pray for forgiveness and a clean slate, the opportunity to start the year anew. The Israelites also seemed to have that desire. They were fearful entering the land, wanting God to walk with them, holding their hand and guiding them on their journey. May we therefore be like the Israelites, learning to trust in God. Yet may we also maintain our partnership with God, creating healthy pathways to be the future while recalling the past.

Shabbat Shalom.

Blessings and Bounty

Last weekend, I participated at a spiritual retreat at Camp Alonim in the Simi Valley, about an hour from my apartment. Due to the fact that I was participating and therefore not on my laptop, I did not write a d'var Torah. Everything in its time. However, here are my thoughts on this week's parsa!

This past week marked another new occasion. I began teaching religious school. As I waited for my students to arrive at Congregation Or Ami, I looked around the bare walls of the classroom and tried to imagine what this room would look like by the end of the year. What projects would be up on the walls? Who would be that creative kid who writes an awesome poem about God, or who would describe a connection to God in such a profound way that it had to be displayed? (To explain, I am teaching an entire curriculum on God to 4th graders - a challenging, sometimes daunting task with any age, but especially with 4th graders. But hey, I always like a good challenge).

At the end of my first two classes (both Monday and Wednesday providea different group of kids), my madricha (high school age teaching aide) and I hung up 4 posters, two of each kind. On two of them it was written: What do you think of when you think of God? and on the other two was written the words Kehilah Kedosha, holy community. We discussed both concepts/themes and the kids wrote what they thought. They had so many incredible ideas for how to create that kehilah kedosha within our classroom and the greater Or Ami community that I was blown away. One boy wrote that the best way to create this community was by giving back and doing good things for others. I was floored! A 4th grader came up with that of his own accord! When I asked them about God, they surprised me again. Their images of God were the typical man with a beard in the cloud, but their ideas of what God does and God’s power were astounding. My students shared words like creator, imaginer, dreamer, clouds, judgment, prayer. It was incredible.

Consulting this week’s Torah portion, I wasn’t surprised that our conversation fit into the parsha. God, along with the priests, tells all the people, הסכת ושמע ישראל היום הזה נהיית לעם ה׳ אלוהיך, Keep quiet and listen, Israel; on this day you became a people before/to Adonai, your God (Deut. 27:9). This command, but also this blessing, is very much how I felt about my students this week. They heard the words of the Shema and latched onto them, wanting to learn more. They became a part of a people, our people, the Jewish people, but they also became a part of something else. Together, we became a part of a class, a group of people who will learn and grow together in the coming year, changing and exploring as we do so. I am grateful to be a part of that, to help support and create the community. And I cannot wait to see what will come of it.

Of course, the parsha continues to discuss blessings and curses; that if you follow God’s commandments you will be blessed and that if you don’t you will be cursed. Although unrelated to my classroom necessarily, I find that this parallels my life as a Rabbinical student. Do your reading, your assignments, and you will be blessed with bountiful learning and experiences. However, should you choose not to do as you’re told and read all the readings or do the assignments, your lot will not be as pleasant and you will not get as much out of it. Granted, this circumstance is not black and white, nor does it cast a horrible life outcome on those who choose it, but it is my own personal version of those blessings and curses for this week. My choice is the blessings, to the best of my ability. I only hope that my choices lead me well and help me find more meaning in the messiness of everyday life.

Shabbat Shalom.

Judgement and learning in parallel

This week marked the first official week of classes. It entailed increased stress levels, meeting many new faces and personalities, and exploring neuronal connections that haven’t been active in a while. Also intrinsic to the first week of school is learning again how to sit in a class and actively listen and participate.  Many of the people with which I interacted were fleeting; we met and then both moved on to wherever we were heading. However, some of them made an impact, and their spark has stayed with me as I continued through the week.

Two such people stand out. One approached me as I was working after class one afternoon, asking what I was doing. I shared and she immediately offered to serve as a sounding board, listening and offering advice to my swirling ideas which I couldn’t concretize. By the end of our 10 minute conversation, she had given me useful insight and I, hopefully, had in turn offered a respite from the intensity of her day. 

The second interaction was out of necessity. While leaving HUC to go home, a friend and I found that his car had a flat tire. Knowing that the wait time would be longer than a few minutes, we decided to plant ourselves in the sun and wait. However, knowing I had a call in the not-so-distant future, he went inside to see what he could do. A few minutes later, one of his friends came out and offered me a ride home. I accepted, and we spent the next 25 minutes discussing life, HUC and ourselves, on the way to her house. Once my call finished, we continued to talk and discovered that we both enjoyed text, and were excited to learn in a different way.

Both interactions left me buoyed with the knowledge that not only do people take time to warm up, but that these people will be both classmates/colleagues, and friends. They will be my confidants, my sounding boards, and my sparing partners. This week’s parsha is again talking about the legal codes and how we must live as we go into the land and work to establish ourselves. Deuteronomy 17:8-13 reminds us that we have judges/legal guidance already set up for us, that we must simply utilize it. If something is too difficult for us to judge, we must take it before the Levites/Priests and let them judge, according to God’s will/passed on decree.

Although I am not comparing these new classmates to Levites/Priests, there is something about their greater levels of knowledge and simple experience that compels me to turn to them on questions of text, halacha (Jewish law), Jewish practice, or living. They have already lived through this year, with the wisdom to accompany it, so it seems logical to use their insight. Not necessarily judging legal doctrine, they are judging life doctrine instead. As the high holiday's approach, I am reminded of the importance of judgement, and recognize that these people will serve as one way I can look inward to myself.

The parsha also allows us to establish a king over ourselves, should we desire one, but to make sure that king is also desirable in God’s eyes. He should rule with a law book, but he should not become haughty and think of himself as any better than anyone else. People in power tend to develop a complex, in that they are better and more learned or simply greater than others. One thing that these new acquaintances reminded me, along with a few rabbis, was that I must remember that I am just like any other person. The title rabbi may one day be attached to my name, but I am still just Elana Nemitoff. I must not take the title, the mantle of the rabbinate, and allow it to change me so profoundly that I develop a sense of self-righteousness. Rather, I must use the mantle to help others, while simultaneously remembering who I am and how I want to be in this world.

May this Shabbat bring learning and understanding, of yourself and your position. May you find people who can serve as your judge and confidant, who make your life more complete and whole.

Shabbat shalom!

Billings Firsts' Sermon

Here is my first sermon, on firsts, that I will give tonight here in Billings, MT. Shabbat shalom!

Do you remember your first day of school? You walked into the classroom and immediately gravitated to those one or two classmates who you were friends with, who you hadn't seen all summer and were eager to get re-acquainted with?

Now repaint the picture: it's still the first day of school. However, you walk into the school filled with trepidation, unsure of what to expect because you have just moved to town. None of the faces surrounding you are familiar and you feel a sense of disquiet, as an anxiety settles into your stomach while you shrink and fall into a desk. The teacher walks in and immediately smiles in your direction, acknowledging that she recognizes this is scary for you. Two weeks later, it is as if you have been there for years.

Today is like my first day of school. In fact, it is a weekend full of firsts: new state, new city, new congregation. And like the first day of school, when we all introduce ourselves to our classmates, let me take the opportunity to introduce myself. My name, as you know, is Elana Nemitoff and I am honored to be standing in front of you. As a second year student at Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion, this is my first student pulpit, the first time I will stand in front of my congregation and be a source of comfort and learning (I hope).

I have spent the last two years living in Israel, improving my Hebrew and learning about the ancient homeland of our collective people. I spent the first year in Israel learning at HUC and my second year working as an aide in a school for kids with special needs just north of Tel Aviv. There, I became more enamored with cycling, which I continue to both love and be involved with in Los Angeles. I was able to explore my surroundings in a more intimate manner, creating a stronger connection with the country and the land. Now I look forward to getting to know a vast expanse of land that doesn’t exist in Israel, this beautiful land of Montana. I am sure you can point me in the direction of some great rides/hikes.

Growing up, I moved twice before leaving for college, to Columbus, OH right before I began kindergarten and to Overland Park, KS right before beginning 8th grade. Although as an eighth grader I was filled with angst and anger toward anyone willing to get close enough to me to find out, the moves were both mostly positive experience. Thankfully, that’s changed a bit since those days.

Today, I stand before you as a woman filled with gratitude and humility. That gratitude is to you, for opening your doors and your homes to welcome me into your familial community. The humility is due to my lack of knowledge. As a second year student, I have gleaned from the text and the wisdom of our Jewish tradition, but I have much more to learn. You will teach me just as much, if not more, than I will teach you and I am honored that this is the case.

This weekend, I face you as your new student Rabbi. I am bursting with ideas and have so many tunes and prayers swimming in my head. However, I must be honest: I will need your help. I love learning and teaching, but my singing voice is not necessarily the best. Therefore, you will need to participate with me. Regardless of how you feel about your own singing voice, Judaism is about creating a safe and loving community, regardless of natural ability. Our prayer services will not be as impactful or spiritual if we are not working together to make them so. If you have a favorite tune or reading, let me know, and then be patient as I learn it.

I am struck by a verse from this week’s Torah portion that says: “For you are a people consecrated to the Eternal your God: the Eternal your God chose you from among all other peoples on earth to be a treasured people” (Deuteronomy 14:2). Although I would not dare to compare myself to God, I was chosen to be here and serve you. Walking on the shoulders of other Rabbis, I accept their contribution while reminding all of us that I am unique from anyone else who has stood on this bima, as lay person or clergy. I will work in conjunction with you, as God worked with the people, and will strive to merit that appointment.

Truthfully, I do love the first day of school. New school supplies, books with that new book smell, usually new clothes, a touch of fall in the air. Here too, I am experiencing that. And so are you. Let us take this opportunity to acknowledge that. Introduce yourself to me and I will do so in return. I want to get to know you and be there for you.

Experiencing this first with you is such a blessing, cloaking me in retrospection and vulnerability. Whatever simchas and sorrow we experience this year, may we experience them together. May we rely on one another to grow and change through this year, as you re calibrate to a part-time rabbi and I grow into myself as a Rabbi. May we learn to listen to one another and be willing to acknowledge when we are at fault, and when we can add more.

Challenging God

I’m exhausted. After spending the past week going through orientation at HUC, as well as taking in the anxiety and frustration of my fellow classmates, I am spent. About 20 minutes ago, when I went outside to shed the stress through a brief run, my whole body protested, too tired to exert that much energy in order to move. One block into the run, I turned around. Then, not wanting to return to my apartment and leave the sun, I turned the corner and started down a different street. Again, I stopped after a few blocks.

The combination of being in school again after taking time away for a year, of anxiety/stress at an incredibly high level, and not feeling settled, as well as finding my way around a new city, is a lot. It takes getting used to, and defenses that haven’t been accessed in a while were down and have quickly been re-instated. But more than anything, my body is taking a beating. Breaking in a new bed, driving and sitting a lot in class or traffic, different food or eating times. It’s ready for a break. My body is ready for Shabbat.

Shabbat is that time of the week when we can take a step back from the wear and tear we have put on our body for the past week and just breathe. It grants us the opportunity to set aside the high-stress of the highway and stand-still traffic and just be in our normal flow. As Abraham Isaac Kook wrote in his book, Orot Teshuvah (The Lights of Repentance), we all want to maintain the flow of who we are, and keep it running. But when we do wrong (or to paraphrase, when we don’t keep ourselves balanced), the flow gets interrupted and we feel pain. Shabbat, in a way, is an opportunity to re-establish that flow and reconnect with ourselves and with God.

This week’s parsha, Parshat Ekev, has many messages, but one in particular struck me. Chapter 8, Verse 16 says למען ענותך ולמען נסותך, להיטבך באחריתך, that God may oppress you and God may test you, but it will all be for good in your end. As I look back on this week, I find that God is attempting to test me, to challenge me. God is attempting to help me discover where my strength lies. Not in such a way that I cannot handle what happens, but as a way to explore my inner-strength.

For example, I feel on the sidewalk yesterday, walking down the street. I didn’t just stumble, I flat out slid on the pavement. The pad of my elbow has a scrape about 2 inches in diameter, to prove it! But again, God was testing me. I needed to know that I could take a decently painful spill and handle the consequences. Truthfully, it was the easiest of what I’ve dealt with in the past few days! But I recognized that this pain was a direct indication that God has many ways to test us, and we must be open to whatever those methods are, acknowledging God’s presence and accepting God’s love when it comes.

May this Shabbat bring us the ability to decompress from the past week and strength to face the week to come. May we take this Shabbat as an opportunity to reconnect with our inner-flow. May this Shabbat find our connection and understanding of God strengthened. Shabbat Shalom.

God's love

This week, I traveled from Sanibel, FL to Los Angeles, CA. Traversing the country by bike, plane, and car, and I discovered there are many ways to go on a journey. I didn’t necessarily appreciate the mind-numbing monotony of endless desert or field. Nor did I enjoy sitting in a car seat for upwards of 13 hours a day. Nor did I desire to sit still for hours on end. However, there were aspects of this trip that I found breathtakingly phenomenal. I came to understand that part of that adventure is the process itself, not the final destination. The wide open sky, with no buildings disturbing the expanse. The fresh-smell of a pine forest, not encroached upon by human spoil. The simple beauty of a field populated by yellow flowers, not marred by anything else.

Now, sitting in my new apartment, smelling the challah baking in the oven, sweaty from unpacking all of my clothes into my closet, I feel a sense of accomplishment only matched by other move-in adventures. This shabbat, I recognize that God chose us, the Jewish people; gave us the Torah; the journey through the desert for a reason. Not being omniscient, the particular reason is beyond me. However, I have a few thoughts.

This week’s parsha, V’etchanan, ends with an explanation of why God chose the Jewish people. in D'varim (Deuteronomy 7:7-11), God tells Moses, to tell the people, that God didn’t chose them because they are large (we were the smallest at the time), but because God loved us and promised to continue to love us. The logic doesn’t exactly follow, but the conclusion is that God loved, and still loves us, despite all the hardships we had to overcome to get to the Acacia trees in Moab, right outside of the land of Israel. The journey is a necessity, in order to enjoy the fruits of the labor. God’s love is what will get us there.

Not only that, but God tells us what to do with God’s commands. This parsha includes the Ten Commandments, reiterated, so we know exactly how to follow God’s commands, to respect God’s love for us. Right before those Commandments, we get the Shema and V’ahavtah, the watchword of our faith that tells us what it means to be Jewish (have one God) and then how to remind yourself of that daily, how to love God.

In short, the parsha is about God’s love for us and how we should love God in return. The journey through the desert, and the initial reaction to the land of Israel demonstrate that the people didn’t always feel God’s love, nor did they appreciate God attempting to lead them. But eventually, eventually, they accepted and began to understand the benefits of God’s love.

So too, was my journey across the country trying at times. So too is Los Angeles not what I was expecting or am necessarily accustomed. I have much to learn. I have much to get used to. But, I will remind myself of God’s love and how I can maintain my covenant with God, and hopefully discover that the journey gets a little easier along the way.

Moses' Send-off Speech

This week, we begin reading the book of Deuteronomy, and I am rather overwhelmed by that fact. The rest of the books have all contained relatively new information, meaning excitement was the main emotion resonating within as I read each parsha. However, this week starts Deuteronomy. 36 chapters of Moses speaking, reminding the people off these last minute tid-bits, not wanting to see them in trouble because they forgot an important rule or law. Moses seems like an over-protective parent, sending his children off to summer camp to even college for the first time. “Don’t forget to write/email!” “Stay out of the woods, there might be raspberry plants and you’re allergic (or stay away from alcohol and parties).” “Change your underwear at least every other day.” “Make sure you send your clothes to the laundry.” And of course, “be nice to the other kids in your cabin/your roommates."

Essentially, Moses is about to give his big parting speech, to remind the people that he won’t be there to guide them anymore. Of course they will have Joshua to take over for Moses, but Moses doesn’t seem to trust the guy too much, especially if he needs to give the people so many reminders of how to act. Moses still needs to be in control for a little while longer, before he pulls out of the front-gate and can fall apart, cry with wonder at how his children have grown up, how they don’t need him anymore.

So, how does Moses start this parting speech? With a reminder of keeping law and order. in Deuteronomy 1:1-8, Moses recounts how he tried to rule for himself, but wasn’t able to. Therefore, God had him appoint judges to give out punishment and hear problems, taking only the really difficult ones to Moses himself. The importance of this for the people at the moment is that they will soon need to be their own deciders of right and wrong. Without Moses as the final verdict-decider, they will need to figure out their own problems and bring resolution when necessary. Moses will no longer be able to act as their highest court.

Another way Moses subtly reminds the people that they will be okay is through an indication that God was always there for the Jewish people. God reminds the people that God went ahead of the Israelites by day, to find a place to pitch a tent. At night, God was there, showing the way with fire. During the day, God remained with the people in the cloud above them to protect them. This is relayed in Chapter 1, Verse 33. God is reminding the people not to give up on God. Rather, they must continue to believe, even as times get hard and other people’s come in and try to destroy them. The people of Israel must recall that God is with them, helping them find strength and courage to continue on!

This Shabbat, may we also find the strength and courage to continue on. May we remember that God is always with us, guiding us and helping us guide ourselves. May we learn how to let go of those we love, as they journey on to new things. May we always remember to share advice.

Shabbat Shalom.

Rockets, refuge and retribution

The following is the text of the sermon I will give tonight at B'nai Jehudah, in my position as Rabbinic Intern.

Each day I wake up and check my phone for the news from Israel. Is this the day I need to prepare myself for a friend’s passing? How many people died overnight? Was it someone I knew? I walk through my day in a daze, unable to give work 100% of my attention, instead filled with dread and knots in my stomach, knowing my home is under fire. I find myself looking for airline tickets. I am sick with worry.

The country which I love with my entire being is under attack. My people, my neighbors, my friends are being terrorized and simultaneously engaged in this military action. The escalation has increased significantly from the kidnapping and murder of three Israeli teenagers, Gilad Shaar, Naftali Frankel, and Eyal Yifrach, to a revenge killing of Muhammed Hussein Abu-Khadir, an Arab teen, to an all out invasion into Gaza. 30 Israeli soldiers have been killed in this battle. Hundreds of innocent Arabs have been killed. The anguish I feel is all-consuming. I am plagued by questions of what to do with the bloodshed, the pain, and death.

The questions are ever-present. Our tradition says that we shall not kill, that we should protect ourselves against murder. So then, what does it mean to defend? How long can Israel sit and be bombarded with bombs before she acts, knowing there will be collateral damage in the wake? What do we do when people take a situation into their own hands, not consulting a higher power or the laws of human engagement?

In searching for these answers, I realized that this week’s Torah portion deals with just these complex ideas. It defines what רצח, murder is, tells us how to handle the bloodshed that occurs. The parsha even goes so far as to delineate what encompasses a city of refuge, who can go there and why.

Anyone who takes a life sustains some sort of punishment. The parsha specifies, for instance, that only one who murders another intentionally should be punished by a blood-avenger, or a close family member who becomes a state-appointed agent. Only certain objects or means of killing count as 1st degree murder. In Numbers 35:21, the explanation is that “if [a man] pushed [someone] in hate or hurled something at him on purpose and death resulted,” the instigator can be put to death. That insinuates that those people throwing rockets at Gaza, and those doing so from Gaza into Israel deserve punishment.

I think to myself “that cannot be right.” The idea of killing members of the Israeli army for sending rockets into Gaza doesn’t seem like a good solution to me, but nor does allowing Hamas operatives who bombard Israel with rocket fire to continue to do so. Following orders cannot be punishable by death, can it? The parsha doesn’t suggest what to do when people are dying on both sides of the conflict. It doesn’t clarify how to support Israel, while your moral compass is telling you that innocent death is wrong. Nor does it give an option for what to do when the people firing the rockets are simply following orders, not the ones making the ultimate decisions.

We, as Jews, come from a place that maintains the importance of life above all else. That claim is being threatened by the idea of a real-life situation where lives will be lost on a daily basis, on both sides of the conflict. My heart says that Israel must support herself, despite the death count, but then I hear another voice saying that any death is still death. The question then becomes, not how do we define murder, but how do we maintain our morality in this sea of death?

The Torah, as any good teacher does, offers some kind of hope and solution to this moral dilemma. This hope comes in the form of cities of refuge, ערי המקלט. The purpose of a city of refuge is to offer asylum to one who has accidentally killed another individual and is worried for his own life. He can turn to one of these six cities of refuge and be given peace of mind that he is safe and protected as long as he is within the city limits. At the time when the tribe where the murder took place is ready to prosecute, the suspected killer is taken to court and brought to justice. This is our first of two positives offered by the cities: a person gains protection until a court steps in to judge. The second positive we glean is that time is offered to let minds and hearts not directly emotionally involved in the circumstances preside over the trial.

Yet, how does this relate to modern-day Israel. The word מקלט in Hebrew means shelter, specifically air raid shelter. This is where Israelis go every time they hear the air raid siren, marking another rocket being launched at them. Therefore, Israel has a few more than six ערי-מקלט, we have thousands. These shelters literally save lives. They serve their purpose, of housing people from the barrage around them and give them sanctuary for a few minutes. Although these shelters are not necessarily used to shelter suspected killers, we see that the refuge is still imperative.

Were we to consider these cities of refuge as actual cities again, we might still be able to imagine it in today’s escalating skirmish. I know intrinsically that there is not one individual that is firing these rockets into Gaza or into Israel. Rather, many people are responsible for each rocket being sent over the wall. Many of these people are likely the unintentional killers we hear about in our parsha. The intention of their commanders may be to kill, but they personally do not wish to kill anyone. That moral dilemma and conscience weighs strong. This is where the cities of refuge come in. Those who know they have taken innocent lives may search in vain for a way to rationalize what they have done or are currently doing. They are the ones who need the cities of refuge. They need a place to put distance between themselves and their actions, to be judged by an outside party with no revenge to be had.

The Torah delineates six rules of how exactly we go about the process of negotiating a legal decision when it comes to murder. This is supposed to be about what happens when one person commits murder, detailing how the murder should be avenged, or not avenged, and how to bring resolution to the initial conflict. However, we are not told what to do when multiple deaths occur and it is not one person doing the killing, but one people against another. Nor are we given the guidelines for what to do when there are chains of command, with a Commander telling his soldiers what to do, therefore potentially changing the onus from the person doing the action to the Commanding Officer.

Perhaps, when this war is over, a conclusive solution can be reached. The International Criminal Court of the United Nations, a supposedly unbiased body, might be able to try those in the upper echelons of both Hamas leadership and the Israeli military. I don’t want to see my brothers and sisters as killers, but nor do I want to see my neighbors as killers either. I lived and worked with Arabs. I ate lunch with them everyday. I shared gossip with them. They aren’t killers either. Many of them are my friends as well. I want to see retribution, so Israel maintains her right to exist, and so I don’t feel this moral dilemma of who is responsible for these deaths.

Yet right now, there is no solution. At least not one that will leave everyone happy and all parties feeling they have gotten what they ask for/deserve. Each party is currently grieving and feels they are in the right with regard to killings in this Operation. Each party wants to gain justice. But if both sides continue to pursue justice on their own, they will continue to bring death, hatred and pain to the world. 

Unfortunately, these six rules for what to do when homicide occur do not have a timeline attached to them. They do not say exactly when we should enact the process and how to carry it out. Especially during times of war when emotions are high and anger flies faster than the rockets in the sky.

For now, we must recognize that there is no easy solution. Yet, there can be a tempering of hate and anger, a conscious effort to fill the world with more love and peace. Although naive, the more love we bring into the world, the more we counter the hate around us. We must recognize that these laws of what to do with homicide were put down for us, as the Jewish people, to bring expiation. If we acknowledge that, we can cease to take life and death matters into our own hands.

How do we bring about this tempering of hate and anger? We must reach out to our Muslim neighbors, engaging them in conversation and friendship. We can give money to Israeli organizations like OneFamily and the Reform Movement in Israel (the IMPJ) who help make life in these places of refuge a little easier. We can write our Congressmen/woman, urging them to suggest respite for both Palestinian and Israeli children caught up in this struggle. We can and must make our voices heard.

This Shabbat, may we gain peace and and understanding with our brothers and sisters. May we merit to live in a place where rockets do not rain down and hatred is not the modus operandi. May this Shabbat bring us compassion and time to consider how we can bring betterment to our broken world.