Reb Barry's Blog ... neshamah.net

Ripple and Adon Olam

One of the things I love about living in Jerusalem is being pleasantly surprised by all sorts of things.  The most recent was this past Friday night.  Friday nights I usually daven at "Mizmor l'David," aka "the Carlebach minyan."  I suppose in Jerusalem it's more accurate to say "a" Carlebach minyan, since there are many of them.  Anyway, we normally finish the Friday night service by singing Adon Olam – to a Beach Boys melody, the Sloop John B.  This week we had a change: instead of the Beach Boys, we had the Grateful Dead.

Now I'm what you might call a "non-hard-core" Grateful Dead fan.  I have a Dead album, I went to a Dead concert "back in the day," which is to say something like 1972.  But I certainly don't qualify as a "Dead head."  So I immediately recognized that it was a Grateful Dead melody, but I couldn't place the name of the song or the lyrics.  Thanks to the wonders of the internet and how people post stuff, I was quickly able to figure out it was "Ripple."  So I got curious about Ripple, and discovered it really doesn't have anything to do with the horrible wine of the name we drank back in the early 70s.  It's rather a very beautiful poem, and the sentiments of the song are actually somewhat apropos to Adon Olam.

Thanks to David Dodd for his posting of the lyrics and his commentary.

My commentary follows:

"Ripple"

Words by Robert Hunter; music by Jerry Garcia.
("Ripple" composed and written by Jerry Garcia and Robert Hunter. Reproduced by arrangement with Ice Nine Publishing Co., Inc. (ASCAP))

>>comments come after the brackets

Shvi'i shel Pesach

Tonight begins the 7th day of Pesach . . . for those of us living in Israel, the end of the holiday.  Those of you still living in "galut," in the Diaspora, still have an extra day beyond that.

Chol hamoed Passover is certainly a very different experience in Israel than anywhere else. 

This Year in Jerusalem

Note: This week's post first appeared at www.israelatsixty.org.il

Every year we close our seder with the words “L’shana haba’ah birushalayim,” “next year in Jerusalem.”  Unlike the requirement to mention the Passover offering, maror, and matzah this phrase is not found in the Mishnah or even in the Talmud. But the roots of the saying are found in the Mishnah, which is to say from about 1,800 years ago. In Mishnah Pesachim we are told that Rabbi Akiva would conclude his seder with the following: “SO MAY THE LORD OUR GOD AND THE GOD OF OUR FATHER SUFFER US TO REACH OTHER SEASONS AND FESTIVALS WHICH COME TOWARDS US FOR PEACE, REJOICING IN THE REBUILDING OF THY CITY AND GLAD IN THY SERVICE, AND THERE WE WILL PARTAKE OF THE SACRIFICES AND THE PASSOVER-OFFERINGS.” These sentiments are brought into the final bracha of the seder…”and rebuild Jerusalem, the holy city, speedily in our days, and bring us up into it. Let us rejoice in it, and bless you in holiness and purity…” It’s pretty easy to see how we naturally go from that blessing to a call for “next year in Jerusalem!” And I did find a reference to saying “l’shana haba’ah birushalayim” in Minhagim Yisrael, from the early 1600s, so the custom is at least that old.

“Next year in Jerusalem” was clearly a cry from a people living in exile.

Another only in Israel moment...

Friday morning I opened the newspaper (the Jerusalem Post in this case; we subscribe to both the Post and Haaretz) and was greeted by the following headline:

"Matza relief! A 'kezayit' may be smaller than we thought"

Unless you've studied a little bit of Talmud or halacha, you probably have no clue what this headline is talking about.  "Zayit" is an olive; "kezayit" means "like an olive." Many measurements in halacha are tied to this measure.  How much bread do you have to eat to be obligated to say the blessings? A "kezayit."  How much matzah do you have to eat on Passover to fulfill the mitzvah of eating matzah? A kezayit.

So only in Israel is it front page news on the newspaper that someone claims he now has proof that a kezayit is less than 5 grams, substantially less than what has generally been considered the proper amount.  Researchers looked at the olives from some 3000 year old olive trees and concluded in the days of the Talmud, olives were pretty small.

Who cares?  Most of us eat lots of matzah at the seder.  This is really for the benefit of those who have a digestive condition, such as celiacs, that make it difficult for them to eat wheat.

Not a headline you are likely to see on the front page of the Toledo Blade...

Shavua tov,

Rav Barry

Competing Narratives

One of the things that is fascinating about living in Israel is the way that myth informs reality, and how sometimes it's hard to separate myth FROM reality -- with consequences that are profound. Last year, when I was still living the life of a congregational rabbi in the US, I gave a sermon on the topic of these "conflicting narratives," and how the stories that the Israelis tell and the stories that the Palestinians tell about the founding of Israel are widly different, and how those different narratives are a real barrier to peace and understanding; you can read the sermon by clicking here . 

In recent weeks we've seen the depth of competing narratives WITHIN the Israeli population. The terrorist who killed 8 students at the Mercaz Harav yeshiva was not picking a random target.

To continue reading, click here...  (will bring you to the Persistence of Vision: Israel at Sixty blog)

Ta’anit Esther? Or Nicanor’s Day?

Today, the 13^th of Adar on the Hebrew calendar, is Ta’anit Esther, the Fast of Esther, one of the so-called “minor fast days” in which Jews traditionally fast from sunup to sundown.

I have to admit that I have long felt a certain ambivalence about the minor fast days. Most of them commemorate events from a very long time ago – events that don’t have the same urgency and immediacy as they once had. Take Tzom Gedaliah, for example. As one colleague put it, “why should I fast for Gedaliah? Would he have fasted for me?” When I was living in the US, serving congregations away from heavily Jewish areas, hardly anyone observed the minor fast days. Which made it hard to generate a lot of enthusiasm for fasting.

Why fast?

Redeeming Captives

Today I had the rare opportunity to perform a mitzvah I have not done before:  redeeming captives.

This is an incredibly important mitzvah.  In the Mishneh Torah (Hilchot Matnot Aniyim) Rambam says:

"The redeeming of captives takes precedence over the feeding and clothing of the poor. Indeed there is no religious duty more meritorious than the redeeming of captives, for not only is the captive included in the generality of the hungry, the thirsty, and the naked, but his very life is in jeopardy. He who turns his eyes away from redeeming him, transgresses the commandments: You shalt not harden your heart, nor shut your hand (Deut. 15:7), Neither shall you stand idly by the blood of your neighbor (Lev. 19:16), and He shall not rule with rigor over him in your sight (Lev. 25:53). Moreover, he nullifies the commandments: You shall surely open your hand unto him (Deut. 15:8), That your brother may live with you (Lev. 25:36), You shall love your neighbor as yourself (Lev. 19:18), Deliver them that are drawn unto death (Prov. 24:11), and many similar admonitions. To sum up, there is no religious duty greater (Mitzvah Rabba) than the redeeming of captives."

However, when contemplating performing this great mitzvah, it never occurred to me that I would fulfill it by redeeming a rabbi from the hands of my government.  Yet that is how it worked out.

Jerusalem in mourning

The relative sense of security that Jerusalemites have felt for the past couple of years was shattered on Thursday night with the murder of 8 teenage yeshiva students who were studying at the Mercaz Harav yeshiva.  You can read basic coverage of the attack here .

Unlike many other past terrorist attacks, this one was no random choice.  Mercaz Harav is an Orthodox yeshiva (men's school for Torah study) which is the "flagship" institution of the religious Zionist movement -- the movement that produces the vast majority of ideologically motivated settlers, and the vast majority of people building illegal settlements.  The terrorist was striking a blow to what might be perceived as a central institution in the whole Zionist settler movement.

This attack brought home to me once again what a small place and what a small community we are in Jerusalem.  In keeping with Jewish religious law, funerals in Jerusalem are always conducted within 24 hours; if a death takes place early enough in the day, the funeral is often the same day.  I can't imagine how difficult that most be for family members -- you barely have time to adjust to the idea of the loss and you're at the cemetery.  Even though I normally travel is relatively "liberal" circles, I have two friends who were at funerals on Friday -- funerals for the 16 year old son of a former colleague for one friend, a 15 year old son of a neighbor for the other.

The terrorist came from Jerusalem -- from the Arab neighborhood of Jebl Mukaber.  The JPost has an interesting article about the neighborhood which you can read here .   In the article, and in other things you might read, you will see Jebl Mukaber described as an "East Jerusalem" neighborhood.  Calling Jebl Mukaber an East Jerusalem neighborhood is describing a political reality, not a geographical reality.  Jebl Mukaber is the next neighborhood over from where I live -- it is due south of me, not at all east of me.  It is surrounded by Jewish neighborhoods on two sides.  It's not much more than half a mile from where I live.  It's a neighborhood I used to fairly regularly run or bike ride through, to make a nice loop.  However, now that I know this murderer came from there, I find myself feeling that I may choose to run somewhere else.  Which I realize is irrational.  I wasn't afraid to run through Toledo neighborhoods where murders had occurred.  But that's what terrorism does -- it strikes us emotionally, not logically.

The mood in Jerusalem remains somber, both as we mourn for the loss of life of innocent young men, and as we mourn over the reminder that peace remains an elusive goal.

On Friday morning when one of my daughters saw the headline on the paper, she asked "Abba, is the moshiach (Messiah) going to come soon?"

I wish I knew.  But I certainly believe we will need someone with Messianic leadership skills to bring us peace, and that leader is nowhere to be seen in the political scene -- not on our side, and not on the Palestinian side.

But, as Rambam said, "though he may tarry..."  we still wait expectantly.

A Visit to Sderot

Last Tuesday I visited the West Negev development town of Sderot.  In case you don't recognize the name of the town from the news, it is located about half a mile from the Gaza Strip -- it's the town that has been bearing the brunt of Palestinian rocket attacks, having been hit by over 2500 Kassam rockets. 

Sderot has been in the news so much recently, I wanted to see it for myself first hand.  i wasn't too worried about my safety; the Kassams are notoriously inaccurate, and very few people get killed; still, a few weeks before my visit a couple of kids were very seriously injured by a Kassam.  Lauri was pretty nervous about my going -- she said she was checking the news every 15 minutes while I was there to make sure nothing was happening -- but everything was OK.

Of course the very next day -- Wednesday -- a barrage of 50 Kassams fell on Sderot and killed a 47-year-old father of four, Ronnie Yihye.  I saw one of the other people who joined us on the trip to Sderot at shul earlier today, and she said "I hate to say it, but I'm sure glad we didn't go a day later!"

The Benefits of Jet Lag

It's not often I would feel inspired to write singing the praises of jet lag.  But a little jet lag the other day helped me have a really great morning.

I recently returned from a business trip to India and the Philippines; the Philippines are six hours ahead of Israel, so that's enough of a time difference to give you some pretty serious jet lag.

The other morning I found myself wide awake at 5:30am.  Rather than lay in bed tossing and turning, I decided to get a head start on my day.  I got up, studied some Talmud, and then sat out on my patio -- wearing a jacket -- and recited my morning prayers just as the sun was coming up -- the time the Kabbahlists (Jewish mystics) say is the preferred moment.

It was a very prayerful moment -- the world was quiet, the sunrise was beautiful, the scenery great.  As the sun came up, I was ready to say the Amidah, and turned away from the view of the sunset to instead face the Temple Mount -- which conveniently is well in the view from my balcony.  I was struck with the significance how we turn our backs, so to speak, on the rising sun -- the symbol that people practicing ancient religions worshipped -- and instead faced a spot where once stoof a man-made edifice.  A man-made edifice which was sort of a joint venture between the Jewish people and God.  God agreed that if we built it, She would meet us there.  The place itself is now gone, has been for nearly 2,000 years -- yet we still turn in that direction when we pray, not in the direction of the more pagan symbols of the sun or moon.

This was Monday morning; Sunday morning I had done my morning run on the Tayellet, and around UN HQ at the Hill of Evil Counsel.  Therefore I had it in mind to do my other "usual" course, a loop from my house up to the old city (descending through Gehinnom, "Hell" first), in the Zion Gate, cut through the Armenian Quarter and come out the Jaffa Gate and loop back home. 

When I was saying my prayers and came to the line in the Psalm for the day which read "Walk all about Zion, encircle her.  Count her towers, review her ramparts, scan her citadels," I knew I needed to do more morning run through the Old City -- it was "a sign," as my sister would say.

Lauri was amused that the prayerbook provides me with guidance on where to go for my morning run.
  Another "only in Jerusalem" moment!