Learning and Bo

Learning is a great thing to re-discover. This week, as the last three plagues are upon us and God/Pharaoh are debating whether or not the Hebrews can leave Egypt, I am struck by how easy it is to become complacent when we don't know what will happen. Not only that, but after 9 plagues, the people are told to celebrate Passover - a terrifying thing if one doesn't understand the context: you, go take a lamb, kill it, and spread its blood on the doorposts of your house. Why, you ask? Because you want to keep your first-born sons and animals. Okay, you respond. That works.

But truthfully, all of this is a little hairy. I, for one, don't listen that well. However, and this is a big one, if things are presented correctly, or we can listen, everything can work out well. Honestly, things did work out well for the Israelites. They got out of slavery. Then, of course, things began to deteriorate again, but let's focus on one calamity at a time.

As I was sitting and learning a piece of Midrash for class on Monday, I was stuck by this. We were told to learn for 120 minutes tops and then quit, no matter where we were with the text. We didn't have this un-ending misery ahead of us, but rather a tenable, manageable amount of time (although it loomed like forever at the beginning). What I discovered is that when broken into pieces, anything can be manageable, and anything can make sense.

Therefore, maybe the reason the plagues are broken up, why there are multiple explanations of Passover, why the people are so willing to just go along with Moses's plans is that they are mostly given in small chunks (even though they hit one after another). The people are able to (barely) digest one thing and then given the next. Not a perfect plan, but A method of working.

Needless to say, I won't be working like that (no stops ahead) during my studies. Rather, I will work to separate my challenges into reasonable and manageable chunks. Hopefully in that, I will feel more prepared to face each chunk and piece of learning.

Shabbat Shalom

Actively Stand Up

This week's sermon in Billings, MT on Martin Luther King, Moses, and anti-Semitism.

Martin Luther King Junior. Espoused as one of the greatest speakers of his time, a charismatic leader who led the fight for racial equality in America. Here in Billings, as in much of America, he symbolizes the need for recognition of different kinds of people, different ideology, religion and ways of life. He symbolizes hope, continuity, connection. Yet here, he also helps demonstrate the Not in Our Town attitude, the unwillingness to continue to let hatred of any sort, especially in the form of anti-Semitism, rule.

MLK Jr. spoke eloquently. Yet many leaders do not. In fact, our great Jewish leader, Moses himself, complains of being “heavy mouthed and heavy tongued.” (Exodus 4:10) He does not feel prepared to rise to the task of speaking to Pharaoh and helping bring the Jewish people out of slavery in Egypt. In fact, when God asks Moses to go to Pharaoh, here is what he says:

Hebrew (Exodus 6:12). But Moses appealed before God, saying, ‘The Israelites would not listen to me, how then should Pharaoh heed me, a man of impeded/uncircumcised lips’.

Moses is so unsure of his ability to convince anyone to listen to him, not the entirety of this burdened people nor the great Pharaoh, that he tears himself down in front of God. Not heeding the call of God, he takes the easy way out, telling God he is not capable. Moses stands at an impasse: he can either go ahead and attempt to act, or he can remain frozen by fear and insecurity.

The events that transpired in Paris this past week come to mind. If you’ll indulge me for a moment, I’d like to suggest that we, as Jews in Billings, California, or even Israel, are at a turning point, like Moses.

A week and a half ago, a French satirical magazine, Charlie Hedbo published a cartoon depicting the Prophet Muhammed. The next day, 12 people from the magazine (including one policeman) were dead at the hands of Islamic-extremists who felt that they were avenging the wrongful use and depiction of their prophet. What transpired were a series of police chases and disturbing circumstances, ending with a total of 17 people dead, including 4 of the 19 Jews held hostage by related extremists in a Paris Kosher supermarket.

These events were the result of Islamic extremists. They were acts of baseless hatred. Yet, they sparked fear into the hearts of the French public as well as people around the world. That was the intent of the terrorists: evoke fear and separate people. Make them distrust their neighbor. Yet, Jews everywhere started when they heard of these Paris hostages, of all the deaths. The news became personal, hitting too close to home. A Jew is a Jew, we care for our own. Yes, we care for people as a whole, but when our own people are attacked, it becomes much more personal.

Regardless of who dies, destroying the sanctity of life and taking any of God’s children is wrong. It is a desecration of God’s holy name. In fact, our tradition teaches that if one takes a life, it is as if one destroys an entire world. This sentiment speaks to us clearly at this time, after the events of the past week and a half, as well as during this particular MLK weekend. We must stand up and add more worlds to our own, not diminish the ones already in existence.

Exodus 2:23 reads Hebrew …and the children of Israel sighed because of their hard work and they cried out, and their cry for help came up to Adonai from/because of their work/bondage. God could not heed the call of the people until they cried out to God in pain (the pain of bondage). Not until the people actively expressed the misery they experienced as slaves could God act and try to deliver them from slavery.

God must hear our voice. We must make our voices heard. Not just in a single cry that then dies out and disappears, but a constant call, a constant disdain for pain and death so that God will continue to hear again and again. Then our voices will be heard. Then God will, like with the Israelites in Egypt, bring about change and help the people out of their current sorrow. We can help.

And in Egypt, God does. God hears our cry and decides to use Moses, the one who claims not to be able to speak, to help bring the people out. God pits Moses against Pharaoh, the great ruler of Egypt, who feels his actions are correct, that he must continue to enslave the Israelites, even when Moses pleads, even when he threatens the onset of plagues. Pharaoh’s heart is constantly hardened. Moses, of uncircumcised lips, attempts to bargain, plead, demand, beg for the freedom of the Israelites. The weakling against the giant.

However, Moses undergoes a change: from meek and unsure to a strong and determined leader. He does not have all the answers, nor does he know exactly where he should go. But he continues on. He fights. He demonstrates the necessity of acting and doing at a time when no one else is willing. He overcomes his own hesitancies and personal challenges, in order to act for the greater good. Moses is a beacon, like Martin Luther King Junior.

As all the fear and death that has plagued our world over the past week and a half settles in, we recognize the importance of acting, of not being afraid, of making our voices heard. We must demonstrate our disdain for the current circumstances the world is experiencing and take a stand. Then, God will hear our voice. We are a people of faith, but also one of action. We must let God hear our voice. But only if we too are willing to act and bring about the change. Only if we are willing to help our fellow man and stand by their side. We must take a stand, we must say “Not in Our Town.” We must say, “Not in our world!"

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?