Reb Barry's Blog ... neshamah.net

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.

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?

Terumah 5768 -- God's Intellectual Property revisited

This coming week's Torah portion is Terumah, which includes among other things detailed instructions for the construction of the mishkan which I used last year as a launching point for a discussion of the protection of intellectual property under halacha.  You can read it here . 

I'm happy to report this year that my teshuva (Jewish legal opinion) on the protection of Intellectual Property,"Intellectual Property: Can You Steal it if You Can't Touch It?" was approved by the Conservative Movement's Law Committee by a vote of 18 to 1, with 2 abstentions at their most recent meeting in December.  You can read the teshuva on the Rabbinical Assembly web site by clicking here .   

Having had the opportunity now to present several teshuvot to the Law Committee, and having had the opportunity to attend several of the meetings of the committee, I have to say I have been very favorably impressed with the work of the committee, the caliber of the rabbis involved, and the results. 

The 25 rabbis and 5 non-voting lay people on the committee really do their homework -- the first time I presented the predecessor of this paper to the Law Committee, i was shocked.  I thought I was presenting what should be a "motherhood and apple pie" opinion, yet I sat and took furious notes for an hour and half as the members of the committee provided their detailed and well thought out critiques.  I have to admit that while at first I felt a little put off by the sheer volume of criticism, at the end of the day the paper is FAR stronger than the original thanks to the process it went through.

I'm please that the Committee is addressing a number of issues of moral significance.  In addition to my two recent papers on intellectual property and whistleblowing, they also considered a paper about veal at the last meeting.  One of my complaints about the curriculum in rabbinical school was that halacha classes spend more time on ritual issues like ta'arovet, the accidental mixing of meat and dairy, than they spent on moral issues.  I'm glad the movement as a whole seems to be increasingly tuned in to the importance of moral issues as we live in a society which often seems to have lost its moral compass.

Have a great week...

Rav Baruch

Yitro 5768

Last night I had the opportunity to study Psalms together with monks and nuns from the Community of the Beatitudes in Emmaus .  Emmaus is the place where Christians believe Jesus was first seen after being resurrected.  The monastery I visited is on a site that Christians have considered the leading contender for the site since the 5th century; it is, however, pretty far from Jerusalem, about 20 miles, but I suppose distance doesn't really matter when we are talking about miracles.

I really appreciated this opportunity; since I've been working in the business world to make a living, I have not spent nearly as much time teaching and learning Torah as I would like.  I have no idea how Rashi and Rambam managed to combine work and serious Torah.  I hope I figure it out soon!

We were an eclectic group of about a dozen people.  A few nuns, a few monks, Rabbi David Lazar who is the leader of the group, a few laypeople -- Catholic pilgrims, and a few Jews from Tel Aviv, including a lawyer whose attire -- he was wearing a suit -- is somewhat unusual most anywhere in Israel, but particularly unusual in the setting.

The session was set to start at 8pm. My wife Lauri is out of the country on a business trip, so I had to scramble to get the kids ready before heading down the hill to the monastery.  Traffic was terrible, and I arrived a little late.  When I got there I saw what appeared to be the entrance, but it was completely dark, there was a sign that said "entrance on foot only" -- I didn't even see anything that looked like a road that would accept a car -- so I assumed I must be at the wrong entrance. 

Bo 5768 -- Don't be Pharoah...

First of all, you can check out my latest posting on the "Persistence of Vision: Israel at Sixty" blog here .   I comment about my thoughts relating to President George Bush's visit to Jerusalem.

I really truly love Israel and love living here.  So I find it somewhat frustrating that when I look at a parsha, what comes up for me are issues that are critical of Israel, not necessarily supportive.  But I'm not going to duck it, when what comes up for me isn't pretty, I'm still going to share it.

Toldot 5768 -- Segragation in Israel

I went for a bike ride this morning, out to Ramat Rachel  and through the Arab village of Tsur Baher and back through East Talpiot.  When I ride my bike through an Arab village, I feel like quite the adventurer -- most of the Jews I know NEVER travel through Arab villages, not in their car, and certainly not on foot or on a bicycle.  Except of course for a trip to Abu Ghosh, for a taste of their excellent hummus, but everyone knows that Abu Ghosh is safe and "good Arabs" live there.

There are no Army checkpoints blocking the road to Tsur Baher; it's just another southern Jerusalem neighborhood, except one whose residents are Arab.  Kind of like Harlem in New York--no checkpoints to get in there either. 

Chayei Sarah 5768 -- Intermarriage and Israel

At bar/bat mitzvah ceremonies, one not infrequently hears someone charge the young person with a statement like "you are now taking your place in a chain that extends back through the generations to Abraham..." 

That picture of the chain going back over 3,000 years is so well used as to be a cliche; but even cliches often spring forth from something that is true, perhaps even profound.  It IS a chain that extends back through the generations for thousands of years, and that's pretty cool. It did not happen by accident.  As I pointed in my d'var Torah on this week's parsha, Chayei Sarah, two years ago, the first Jew to be concerned about transmitting his Jewish heritage to the next generation was the first Jew (you can read it here ).

Attitudes toward transmitting our Jewish heritage in general, and toward intermarriage in particular are very different here in Israel.  I didn't realize how different until a few weeks ago I got into a conversation with some people, and launched into one of "set pieces" on how there is a lack of freedom of religion here in Israel because I, a Conservative rabbi, can't officiate at weddings, etc.  I allowed as to how the government should allow for civil marriage, etc.  (Here in Israel, all weddings take place under the rubric of one religion or another, and Jewish weddings are all under the very tight control of the Orthodox Chief Rabbinate).  The person I was talking to said "so you're not opposed to intermarriage?"

I was caught short.  I had said no such thing; but the person I was chatting with pointed out that under the current situation, intermarriage is, in essence, illegal in Israel.  It is impossible to do an intermarriage in this country.  Yes, an interfaith couple can go to Cyprus, get married, and when they come home the government of Israel will recognize their marriage as legal -- but they cannot legally perform the ceremony here.

This is a perfect example of the challenges Israel faces in being both a democratic and a Jewish country.  It's totally logical that in a Jewish country, the rabbis would decide who can get married; but it's not very democratic, and it's certainly not democratic if people don't even get to choose their own rabbi.

So yes, I am in favor of "legalizing intermarriage."  If you read my d'var from 5766, you'll see I certainly do not encourage intermarriage -- yet at the same time, I think it's ridiculous that it should be against civil law.  There should be no compulsion in matters of faith.  It's not only interfaith families who are effected by the laws here -- a kohen cannot marry a divorced woman for example.  Is it really the business of the government to make that decision for people?

There are those who believe the answer to assimilation is to make it illegal; and in countries other than Israel where you can't make it illegal, it should be treated so severely that intermarried families are shunned by synagogues and families.

That's not the answer.  The answer is the opposite -- instead of trying to force young people to bend to our will (a lot of good that will do -- intermarriage may be illegal, but Cyprus is only a $100 airplane ticket away), we need to take a positive approach.  Another one of those cliches that spring forth from the truth -- you attract more flies with honey than with vinegar.

In this week's Torah portion, Abraham's servant Eliezer succeeds in his mission, and brings home a wife for Isaac -- a wife chosen for her kindness.  Kindness, not compulsion; kindness, not threats, that's the way to insure transmitting our heritage to future generations.  And in the process, it keeps the heritage one worth transmitting!

Shabbat Shalom,

Rab Baruch

Noah 5768

Rabbi Leff wrote this D'var Torah for, and it was first published by Rabbis for Human Rights - Israel  .

“Noah was a righteous and just man in his generation, God walked with Noah.”  …Genesis 6:9

There is a very famous Rashi on the opening verse in this week’s Torah portion.  The Torah tells us that Noah was a righteous and just man “b’dorotav,” in his generation.  Rashi focuses on “in his generation,” and explains there are those who read the phrase to Noah’s credit, and those who read it to Noah’s disgrace.  On the one hand, “if Noah could be righteous in such a terrible time, just think of how much more righteous he would have been if he lived in better times.”  On the other side, “Noah is only righteous because everyone in his day was a terrible sinner.  Compared to Abraham, Noah’s not so righteous.”

Those who would say Noah wasn’t so special can point to a midrash in Bereshit Rabbah (32:6) which says “Noah lacked faith; had the water not reached his ankles, he would not have entered the ark.” 

Noah had confidence in himself and in his abilities.  God told him to build an enormous ark, and he goes out and figures out how to get the job done. But he was a little lacking in his faith in God.  He needed a push to get into the ark.  He didn’t believe God meant what She said.

Rosh Hashana 5768 -- Torah from Toledo

D'var Torah delivered at Kehilat Moreshet Avraham, Jerusalem, on the 2nd day of Rosh Hashana 5768.
To see the original D'var Torah (in Hebrew) click on the following link:

Download rh_5768.pdf

I learned a new word in ulpan last week: l’hidamot, to become similar.  The teacher gave us an example: Yisrael midameh l’Artzot Habrit, Israel is becoming similar to the United States.  I have to admit, when I heard that my immediate reaction was “chas v’shalom!” “God Forbid! I didn’t move to Israel to live in the 51st state of America!”

However, after a few minutes I regained my composure, and I realized that there are in fact several ways in which it would be good for Israel to imitate the US.  Despite what we sing when we take the Torah out of the ark on Shabbat and holidays – ki mitzion tetze Torah – for Torah shall go forth from Zion (Jerusalem) – I realized that there is also “Torah from Toledo.”

Happy New Year!

Wednesday night (September 12) at sundown we begin our celebration of Rosh Hashana, the Jewish New Year. The tradition says it will be 5,768 years since the creation of the world. Most of us don't worry that the count is off by a few billion years. If the rabbis were better at math they probably would have become accountants instead.

I hadn't really thought it much until this year, but the holiday really does make some very conflicting emotional demands. One could be excused for not feeling sure just how one is supposed to feel Rosh Hashanah. On the one hand, Rosh Hashanah is called "Yom Hadin," the Day of Judgment. The Talmud tells us there are three books open, the Book of Life, the Book of Death, and a third book for all of us who somewhere in between completely righteous and completely wicked. We spend the month of Elul, leading up to Rosh Hashana, in contemplation, evaluating our lives, reflecting on the year past, "pre-judging" ourselves for the judging to come. The air of strictness is reinforced by a teaching from the Midrash which asks "why don't we say Hallel, the verses of praise, on Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur?" The answer given is "how can Israel possibly sing when the king is sitting on his throne of judgment?" Similarly, we are told that while a Shabbat nap is a mitzvah, you are NOT supposed to take a nap on Rosh Hashana – it would be a sign of chutzpah, as if you weren't worried about the judgment of the day. According to that logic, you are supposed to be so wound up over the judging going on you couldn't possibly sleep.

But on the other hand, we don't go around wearing sackcloth and ashes and fasting on Rosh Hashana; we wear white, we enjoy a sumptuous festive meal, we make a point of enjoying apples dipped in honey as a sign for sweet New Year, we are enjoined to eat new foods and wear new clothes. And we eat the apples dipped in honey on the first night of the holiday, before the judging has started. Isn't that sort of chutzpadik? We call the day a "Yom Tov," a holiday, literally a "good day." In the Psalms, Rosh Hashana is called "yom chaganu," our day of celebration.

So which is it we are supposed to feel? If it's a day of judgment, why is it also such a happy occasion? Why the contradiction? Other holidays are more straightforward. Yom Kippur, with all its fasting and denial of physical pleasures feels more like a day of judgment. Other holidays are either happy ones, like Chanuka, Passover, etc., or sad ones like Tisha b'Av. Why the contradiction on Rosh Hashana?

It's true that Rosh Hashana is the Day of Judgment, but the Slonimer Rebbe points out that it's not JUST a day of judgment. More than that, I would say judgment is not the "essence" of the day. In our prayers on the holiday we will sing "hayom harat olam," today the world was created. Rosh Hashana celebrates the birthday of the world, and the birthday symbolizes life and renewal. It's a day when the judgement is accompanied by the sense of renewal – and for the Jewish people in particular we are renewing our commitment to God and Her Torah, and we know if we seriously renew that commitment, God will cut us some slack on our past transgressions. We are happy to renew the commitment, just as couple that has been married for fifty years joyfully renew their vows to each other. Every year we get to renew our vows to God, renew our commitment to be a part of the eternal covenant.

As you enjoy your festive meals on Rosh Hashana, take a moment to reflect on what it means to celebrate renewal, and what it means to you to renew the covenant, think about what you can do to keep up your part of the bargain with God, to be God's partner in improving this planet that we all live on. Doing teshuva, repentance, for past sins is not enough – we need to think positively and reflect on how to make things better!

Shana tova u'metuka, a sweet and joyous New Year,

 

Rav Baruch

Re’eh 5767 – Lo Titgodedu

"You are the children of the Lord your God; you shall not cut yourselves, nor make any baldness between your eyes for the dead." …Deuteronomy 14:1

 

This week's Torah reading, Re'eh, cautions us against following the pagan mourning practices of the original peoples of the land of Canaan. We are not to physically cut our flesh in the way the Canaanities did as a sign of mourning for their dead.

The Talmud (Yevamot 14a) brings a different interpretation of the phrase לא תתגודדו, "do not cut yourselves." The Talmud tells us that what it means is "do not cut yourself up into separate factions."

One look at the Jewish world today tells you we seem to have seriously violated this precept. I had two experiences this week that reminded me of this teaching of "lo titgodedu." On Wednesday as I was coming home to our apartment in the absorption center, a guy with a kippah (skullcap, indicating, generally, a religious Jew) stopped and asked me if I knew someplace in the neighborhood where they had a mincha/maariv service (communal afternoon/evening prayer service). I allowed as to how I didn't know, and we got onto the subject of synagogues in the area with morning prayer services. I mentioned there is a Conservative synagogue up the hill, but I didn't know if they had a morning minyan, and he made a face and a sound, "eww" as if I had suggested he go to the mosque across the way.

Was that really necessary? Wouldn't it have been enough for him to say, politiely, no, that wouldn't be for me?

The other experience was yesterday, and in this situation maybe I was the guilty party. I was sitting at the office and a man dressed in the distinctive black garb of the more right wing flavor of Orthodox stuck his head in the door and started explaining in Hebrew that he was raising money for a synagogue they were trying to build by the Jewish New Year, wouldn't it be great to help them be able to hear the sound of the shofar by Rosh Hashana.

Now I need to put this in context by saying, in general, I give some money to every "schnorrer" (Yiddish term for people looking for handouts). The Torah tells us not to turn a blind eye to the poor. In fact, in this week's Torah portion, we are commanded "If there is among you a poor man of one of your brothers inside any of your gates in your land which the Lord your God gives you, you shall not harden your heart, nor shut your hand from your poor brother;" (Deut. 15:7). It was interesting earlier this week walking down the street with some people I had been studying with, and they seemed amused that I stopped and gave every beggar a shekel, or at least half a shekel (the shekel is worth about $.25 US). Most of them have the all too common attitude "I can't take care of all of them, there are too many," so they don't give to beggars. Of course mostly they don't give anything to beggars, so it's not like they set a daily limit of how much they are willing to give away. Besides, it's not really true that there are too many. Even if you go for a long walk in Jerusalem, which has a lot more beggars on the street than Toledo where I lived until a month ago, you probably don't need to give away more than ten shekels, or $2.50. And you won't do that much walking around downtown every day. It's really not that hard, and this is, I believe, an incredibly important mitzvah, as the Torah specifically tells us "do not shut your hand from your brother." What else is there to do? OK, if you're poor and can't afford even a shekel, give half a shekel, if that's too hard, give ten agurot, but there's really not much excuse to not give. I even organize my pockets when I go out the door in the morning and put the smaller change appropriate for giving away as tzedaka in one pocket, and the larger denomination stuff in another pocket.

But I digress. The whole point of the digression was to make the point that normally I would have given the guy a few shekels, and that would have been that.

In this particular case though, he wasn't asking for money to feed the hungry, or to clothe the poor. He was asking me for money to support his synagogue. A synagogue where in all likelihood I would not be recognized as a rabbi, a synagogue where the people I brought into Judaism as converts would not be recognized as Jewish. If I were to ask him for a donation to support my synagogue, he would most likely make a noise like the first guy I mentioned and shut his hand to me. Now to be fair, this is not true of all Orthodox synagogues; I have been called to the Torah as "harav," the rabbi in a number of modern Orthodox shuls, and I have Orthodox colleagues who treat me with respect.

Which is why I feel bad about what I did. So what did I do? I told him "sorry, I've given a lot of money to support my own congregation." Which is true. One of the last checks I wrote out in Toledo was a contribution to the synagogue's capital campaign fund for the new building. But that was really a brush off. The fact that I may have written out what for me is pretty large check to the congregation I used to be a part of would not normally have gotten me "off the hook" from giving this guy a few shekels.

So I've decided that I did the wrong thing. But it doesn't mean I have to give in this case—this wasn't to support poor people with food—without examining his attitude. I could have used the occasion as an educational opportunity. What I think I should have done, and what I'll do if this comes up in the future, is explain that I'm a "rav Conservativi," a Conservative rabbi, and before I give him a contribution, I'd just like to know that if the situation were reversed, and I was coming around looking for funds for my shul, would he give me something? If he says, sure I'd help you, I'll give him something. If he turns up his nose and goes "eww" I won't give him an agurah.

And I believe the right answer is we should both give to each other. The passage in the Talmud that discusses "lo titgodedu" goes on to discuss the differences between Hillel and Shammai, the two leading rabbis in the late 2^nd Temple Period 2000 years ago. Generally speaking, the law follows the rulings of Hillel. So rabbis a few generations later asked "did Shammai follow their own rulings? If they did, wouldn't this be a violation of 'do not cut yourself into factions?'" The conclusion is that Shammai did in fact follow their own rulings; but what prevented it from becoming different factions is that they respected each other. There were certain situations where Shammai felt that people of a certain lineage were permitted to marry each other, and Hillel felt it would be a Biblical violation for such people to marry. The people of the house of Shammai would let the people of the house of Hillel know who was who. They co-existed. They respected each other's right to have a different opinion.

We could certainly use a lot more of that respect for different opinions in the Jewish world today. Not just between Conservative, Reform, and Orthodox; there are problems between different groups within the Orthodox as well, for some people "kosher" isn't kosher enough, they have to eat glatt. Some people insist their meat has to have been slaughtered by a butcher from a particular sect. Ashkenazi and Sefardi have very different customs at Passover, and all too often someone who follows one custom looks disdainfully at people who follow the other.

We need to respect each other. We need to say about our different customs and different ways of approaching God and halacha (Jewish law) that it's all for the good, it gives a very diverse range of people their own ways of expressing their Yiddishkeit.

Three thousand years ago King David said to God mi k'amcha Yisrael, goy echad ba'aretz, "who is like your people Israel, one nation in the land?" We will never become "one nation in the land" by all following the same customs and all following the same approach to deciding issues of Jewish law. The best we can hope for is that we will learn to respect each other, and to acknowledge that other people, especially other rabbis, are entitled to their approach, and if that different approach works for them, we should say "gezunte heg," for your good health, may it go well for you, and respect the differences.

It's a very sad commentary that all too often the only thing that unifies Jews is anti-Semitism. We can do better.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rav Baruch

 

Vaetchanan 5767 – Pleas and Supplications

ואתחנן אל ידוד בעת ההוא לאמר

"And I pleaded with the Lord at that time, saying…"

At the beginning of this week's Torah reading, Vaetchanan, Moses is reminding the Jewish people how he pleaded with God, begging to be given the opportunity to come into the Promised Land – all to no avail, or mostly to no avail. Moses asked "let me go over and see the land," and God's response was that Moses could see the land, but only from afar – he was not to go over into the Promised Land.

There is a lot of Midrash and commentary on the opening word of our parsha. What is the deeper meaning of "vaetchanan," and I pleaded? The word implies supplication, as in our daily prayers of supplication which are called tachanun, from the same root. Rashi tells us that the language of "chanun" (the same root as vaetchanan and tachanun, but another form, usually translated "grace") implies asking for a free gift. Moses was so righteous, with so many good deeds and so few sins, he could have rightfully insisted that God owed him; but the language of "vaetchanan" implies he asked for a gift, not for something he had coming. Rashi brings proof from a verse where God says "I will be gracious to who I choose to be gracious to." In other words, not necessarily strictly to those who deserve it the most.

Poor Moses! All those years of leading the people, totally giving himself over to the task, and he's denied the one thing he asks for himself! The Midrash brings a story which says it's "like a king who had a favorite, who had the power to appoint generals, governors, and commanders-in-chief. Later, the people saw him entreating the gate-keeper to let him enter the palace, and he would not permit him. Everyone was amazed at this and said, ‘Yesterday he was appointing generals, governors, and commanders-in-chief and now he in vain begs the gate-keeper to let him enter the palace.’ The answer given to them was: ' [His] hour is past."’Poor Moses. His "hour is past!"

The Midrash also says that Moses prayed at that time 515 times, the numerical value of the word "vaetchanan." Some would learn from this Midrash that if Moses prayed 515 times, we too should pray 515 times for the things we need – that we should persist, never give up, etc. Of course despite Moses' 515 pleadings, he still didn't get what he wanted. So would that teach, God forbid, that prayer is futile?

I don't think that's the message to take. There are plenty of other examples when Moses' prayers are accepted, like when he prayed for Miriam to be healed. It does teach us perhaps that there is no direct connection between how fervently we pray and whether or not our wishes are granted – but that's hardly news to us, as anyone who has prayed fervently for the health of a loved one and watched them decline anyway knows. We don't only pray because we expect God to grant our wishes when we ask, but we pray because we need to pour our hearts out to someone when we are in pain. Moses was so pained at not being able to cross the Jordan he poured his heart out 515 times … until God finally had to tell him "enough!"

God telling Moses "enough" reminds me of my ambivalent feelings about the liturgy for Tisha b'Av, as well the whole idea of saying tachanun, supplications, while on an airplane taking you to the Promised Land (a subject I mentioned in my blog about our arrival in Israel). In the Amidah (one of our central prayers) that we recite on the afternoon of Tisha b'Av (the day we mourn the loss of the Temple and other disasters) there is a little supplication we add that starts with the word "nacham," comfort us. This prayer says "Lord our God, comfort the mourners of Zion and the mourners of Jerusalem, and the destroyed and disgraced city, desolate, without her children…etc., etc." I couldn't say the words. I got started, and stopped. It was just too ridiculous to me to sit there and talk about disgraced, desolate Jerusalem, while sitting in a vibrant lively Jerusalem filled with Jews.

There are those who say that we should not make any changes in the liturgy. If the prayers were good enough for our ancestors, they are good enough for us. The Messiah hasn't come yet, the Temple has not been rebuilt, so we should say the same prayers our ancestors have said for thousands of years.

At the other extreme there are those who "of course" we should change our prayers. Rabbi Mordecai Kaplan, founder of Reconstructionist Judaism, did not believe in saying words you don't believe – so he made radical changes in the prayer book.

For me, the ideal is found in the middle – although I admit in this case not exactly the middle. I have a strong bias in favor of retaining the traditional text and struggling with it. For example, many moderns are troubled by the idea of animal sacrifice and would like to delete references to the practice from the prayer book. But from his writings it seems pretty clear that Rambam (Maimonides) the great 12^th century rabbi was also troubled by animal sacrifice, yet he kept the same words. Sometimes there is a benefit to struggling with words and ideas that other Jews have struggled with for hundreds if not thousands of years. At the same time, for me there are limits. One prime example is that little piyut (religious poem) in the Tisha b'Av Amidah – for me it is clearly time to revise that one.

So what would I say instead? How about the following:

"Lord our God, comfort your children whose redemption is incomplete. The sound of the bride and the sound of the groom are once again heard in Jerusalem, and we are grateful. But our joy is incomplete as peace is but a dream, and our Temple, the symbol of peace and redemption is not yet rebuilt. Strengthen us, Lord, in our efforts to make peace with our cousins the Ishmaelites, help us to achieve that day predicted by your prophet Isaiah, the day when the lion lays down with the lamb, the day when 'They shall not hurt nor destroy in all my holy mountain; for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea.' Do not turn your face from us at this difficult time when we remember the tragedies that have befallen your people."

 

Rav Baruch

Tisha b'Av in Jerusalem

“By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, we also wept, when we remembered Zion.”  …Psalm 137:1

The view at left is a picture of the walls of Jerusalem and the Temple Mount; I took the picture Erev Tisha b’Av, the 9th of Av, the saddest day on the Jewish calendar.  On the 9th of Av we remember many disasters to have befallen the Jewish people over the millennia – the destruction of the Temple, not just once but twice; the crushing of the revolt at Beitar, which ended hopes of Jewish sovereignty for almost 2000 years; the expulsion of the Jews from Spain and the beginning of World War I, which some argue set in motion events leading to Hitler and the Holocaust.  On Tisha b’Av we sit low on the ground and read the book of Lamentations by candle light, and for a little over 24 hours we observe a Yom Kippur-like fast, no food or drink, not even water.  Be well hydrated before trying this in the summer in a desert climate!

Being Jerusalem, there was no shortage of options for Tisha b’Av services. 

Devarim 5767 – go up and possess the land; but what about the inhabitants?

"Behold, the Lord your God has set the land before you; go up and possess it, as the Lord God of your fathers has said to you; fear not, nor be discouraged."  …Deuteronomy 1:21

 

God commands the Jewish people to "alah," to make aliyah, to "go up" to the land of Israel – and to possess it.   Last year I gave a d'var Torah on parshat Behar where I weighed in with my opinion that it is indeed one of the 613 commandments to make aliyah – to move to Israel (click here to read it).

This week's Torah portion, Devarim, contains one of many references to the subject in the Torah.  In the introductory section of Moses' final discourse to the people we are told "Behold, the Lord your God has set the land before you; go up and possess it, as the Lord God of your fathers has said to you; fear not, nor be discouraged."  Don't be afraid, don't worry about those strong people living there, just go up to Israel, have faith in God, and everything will be OK.  God's on your side.

Balak 5767 -- 3 Sermons

There are religions that claim they have the only true access to God. Let’s face it, pretty much any revealed religion will of necessity claim that their prophet is the greatest and bestest prophet. Many, if not most, will claim that their prophet is either the last prophet, or the ONLY prophet who really got God’s message right.

This week’s Torah reading, Balak, forces us Jews to have a little humility on this subject. For the Moabite king Balak tries to hire a prophet, Bilam. And this prophet Bilam is not only not Jewish, but Balak hires him to try and harm the Jewish people.

How do we know that Bilam is a real prophet, and not some kind of scam artist? The Torah tells us that God spoke to Bilam; in fact the Torah records several conversations between Bilam and God. Not only that, if you want to talk about a need for humility, God not only talks to this non-Jew Bilam, he makes an appearance to a talking donkey. Here I am a rabbi, still waiting for a dramatic personal appearance from God, and She appears to a talking donkey!

Chukat 5767 -- The Torah of Flying

This week’s Torah portion contains detail after detail about the purification of a person who had been contaminated through contact with a corpse.

The process started with finding a perfect red heifer, one without even a spot on it, it must have no blemish, and it must never have been used to work the fields.

Eleazar the priest was to bring it outside the camp, and someone was supposed to slaughter the red heifer in his presence. Eleazar was then to take some of the blood from the red heifer and bring it back inside the camp to the Tent of Meeting and sprinkle its blood seven times (not six, not eight, but seven times).

Then Eleazar had to go back outside the camp, and someone was to burn the heifer in his sight – and the instructions specify the animal’s skin, flesh, blood, even its dung was to be burned. The priest was then to take cedar wood, hyssop, and scarlet, and cast it into the fire with the burning heifer. After all of this, the priest was to wash his clothes, and bathe, and afterwards he was to come into the camp; even after his bathing he was to be considered unclean until the evening.  The one who was in charge of the fire is also instructed to wash his clothes and bathe, and he too is considered unclean until the evening.

Meanwhile, someone in a ritual state of purity was to gather up the ashes, collect them in a ritually pure place outside the camp, and store it to be used lmei nidah, as a water of sprinkling, for purification purposes. The person who was clean who collected the ashes of purification is himself rendered unclean in the process and had to wash his clothes and he too was unclean until the evening.

Not only are the instructions perplexing – the same substance that is used for purification renders those working with it impure – but they are so complicated and detailed! And all of this isn’t even the actual purification ritual itself, it was just the preparation for the purification ritual.

These two factors – elaborate preparation and attention to a lot of detail – are something that we also see in one of my favorite hobbies, piloting aircraft. A few weeks ago on Shabbat I quoted a Chasidic teaching which says you can learn something from anything – and I proceeded to give a sermon about the Torah of riding motorcycles in the desert. That made me realize that even though I have occasionally used aviation references or analogies in my Divrei Torah, I have not yet spoken in general about the Torah we can learn from flying. So that’s what we’re going to explore this morning.

Korach 5767 -- God save the whistleblowers

At the opening of parshat Korach, this week’s Torah reading, Moses and Aaron, two brothers, have consolidated all the significant political and religious power to themselves. Moses is the temporal power – seemingly self-appointed President for life – and Aaron is the religious power, appointed, not elected, high priest for life. They have declared that the prestigious office of high priest, loaded with perks, is to be the hereditary privilege of Aaron’s sons, forever.

In the face of this seeming injustice, a bold whistleblower, Korach, calls together the people, who until this point have been acting much like sheep, to point out this injustice.

In a showdown where Moses called on an even higher authority, God, Korach and his band were swallowed up by a great earthquake –“they, and all that belonged to them, went down alive into Sheol.”

Oops. No wonder people can be reluctant to be whistleblowers. What was it that Korach did wrong?

Behaalotcha 5767 -- The Torah of Motorcycles

“And it came to pass on the twentieth day of the second month, in the second year, that the cloud was taken up from the tabernacle of the Testimony. And the people of Israel took their journeys out of the wilderness of Sinai.”

This week’s Torah reading, Behaalotcha, recalls the time the Israelites wandered around the Sinai desert.

I too have spent some time wandering around a desert recently. “And it came to pass on the 28th day of the fifth month, in the 2007th year, that the cloud was taken up from the tabernacle of the recreation vehicle. And the tribe of Leff took their journeys out of the wilderness of El Paso.”

OK, maybe it’s not quite as momentous. Over the long weekend I was wandering a very different desert than the Sinai—the desert around El Paso, Texas, where I was visiting with my brother Bill and his two sons, (his two daughters are off other parts of the state). While our ancestors wandered the desert on foot and with donkeys, I was wandering the desert on a motorcycle and flying over it in a small plane. 

There is a Chasidic teaching that says you can learn something from anything; for example we learn from the telegraph that every word is counted and billed; from the train that because of one minute you can be late for everything (a lesson that was also repeated for me this weekend, as I missed a connecting flight by less than one minute – they were just pulling the jetway away from the door as I arrived, and I had to spend the night in Houston); from the telephone we learn that what is said here is heard there. It occurred to me that there is a lot we can learn from riding a motorcycle in the desert as well – there’s a lot of “Torah,” instruction in life, out in the desert.

Bamidbar 5767 -- Dedication Weekend

Before sharing my d'var Torah from this past Shabbat, I just want to say we had an amazing weekend of dedication events for our new building--from a "sing out Shabbat" Friday night, to Shabbat services, to the setting of the time capsule Sunday morning to the dedication concert Sunday night, it was an amazing experience, truly one of the highlights of my rabbinic career.  We had an incredible weekend.  The concert included a piece by Cantor Gerald Cohen especially commissioned for the event, based on the verses from Ecclesiastes inscribed on the Jerusalem stone in the sanctuary, sung by our Hazzan, Jamie Gloth, and special guest and former congregant who now sings in off-Broadway productions in New York, Andrea Rae.

Now, to the d'var Torah:

If the Jewish people seem obsessed with demographics, continually counting ourselves and mulling over the implications of whatever the numbers show, at least we come by it honestly.

God Himself seems obsessed with counting the Jewish people. Today we read from the beginning of an entire book of the Torah, Bamidbar, whose English name, Numbers, reflects this obsession.

Our parsha begins with God commanding Moses שאוּ אֶת-ראשׁ כָּל-עֲדַת בְּנֵי-יִשרָאֵל “count the heads of all of the congregation of the people of Israel, by families, by the house of their fathers, according to the number of names, every male by their polls.” In other words, it was time for the National Jewish Population Survey!

Bechukotai 5767 -- Walking God's Way

Im bechukotai talachu…“If you walk in my statutes, and keep my commandments, and do them, Then I will give you rain in due season, and the land shall yield her produce, and the trees of the field shall yield their fruit. And your threshing shall last to the time of vintage, and the vintage shall last to the sowing time; and you shall eat your bread to the full, and dwell in your land safely. And I will give peace in the land, and you shall lie down, and none shall make you afraid; and I will remove evil beasts from the land, nor shall the sword go through your land.”…Lev 26:3-6

 

You’re probably wondering, “why is the Rabbi wearing a bicycle helmet?”  I'm glad it's Shabbat, so you can't take a picture!

Certainly I was hoping I would get your attention – the reason I’m wearing a helmet is to illustrate the fact that I rode a bicycle here this morning. And my decision to ride a bicycle here this morning, instead of either walking on the one hand or driving on the other hand is at the heart of what I want to talk about this morning.

Emor 5767 -- Counting theDays

The other day I got an e-mail from my daughter Heather, who is away in college in California. She wrote “ OK, so my friend was asking how to say 'live in the moment' in Hebrew. I don't know if they have a similar saying in Hebrew, but could you translate 'live in the moment' for me?”

Ah, I thought, “carpe diem,” seize the day. And it may sound kind of weird but I found myself caught up in a feeling of nostalgia for a philosophical idea I once embraced. It’s kind of a generational thing. Anyone who grew up in the 60s and 70s and was a part of the “hip” community absorbed the philosophy of “be here now” as part of the cultural zeitgeist. Live in the moment? When else? As the physicist William Shockley pointed out, “Yesterday's gone forever and tomorrow may never come, which leaves the present moment.”

The Latin phrase “carpe diem” was made famous by the Roman poet Horace who lived 2,000 years ago. 

$65 Million Pants???

If I didn’t already have my sermon ready for this Shabbat I would have had to speak out about Judge Roy Pearson, Jr. The Washington judge brought some pants to the cleaners, and they were lost. OK, stuff like that happens. If the cleaners are too slow responding, and the suit was expensive, maybe you even sue. But the judge is suing not for a new pair of pants; not even for a whole new suit. He’s suing for $65 million, a figure he claims is justified under DC law. You can read the full story on CNN. 

The cleaners are immigrants from Korea; offers of $3,000 and $12,000 to settle have been refused. They are so upset they are thinking of leaving America to go back to Korea.

This week’s Torah portion, Emor, tells us the judge is way out of line. In this week’s parsha we have the famous teaching of “an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.” Or, we might say “a pair of pants for a pair of pants.” 

The rabbis interpret an eye for an eye has monetary compensation, and it is understood that the lesson is compensation when you’ve damaged someone is supposed to be appropriate and proportional. For a judge to seek damages that would represent a travesty of justice is absurd. For a judge who is part of the legal system to bring a lawsuit which brings ridicule to the legal system scandalous.

Blogger The Will to Exist wrote “If I were a preacher, I would tell people there is a special place in hell for people like Roy Pearson.”

I’m sure there is!

Will to exist also has information if you would like to make a donation to the legal defense fund for the dry cleaner, click on the link above. 

Reb Barry

Kedoshim 5767 - The Chosen People

קְדשִׁים תִּהְיוּ כִּי קָדוֹשׁ אֲנִי יְי אֱ-להֵיכֶם:

“You shall be holy; for I the Lord your God am holy.” The second of this week’s two parshas, Kedoshim, opens with a commandment – the commandment for us to be holy, or set apart. 

This idea of being holy or set apart is one that we see in several places in the Torah and in the rest of the Hebrew Bible. In this week’s Parsha, God tells us to be holy and then God gives us a bunch of commandments. Clearly the way in which we become holy is to follow God’s commandments. Sometimes the commandment to be holy is connected to ritual commandments like observing the Sabbath or keeping kosher or maintaining ritual purity. Sometimes the commandment to be holy is connected to ethical commandments, like not stealing, cursing, or lying. In Exodus chapter 19 we are given a good summary of what God has in mind: “Now therefore, if you will obey my voice indeed, and keep my covenant, then you shall be my own treasure among all peoples; for all the earth is mine; And you shall be to me a mamlechet kohanim, a kingdom of priests, and an am kadosh, a holy nation.

And what is it that we are set aside for? The prophet Isaiah says we are set apart to be a light to the nations: “I the Lord have called you in righteousness, and will hold your hand, and will keep you, and give you for a covenant of the people, for a light to the nations (Isaiah 42:6).” In fact Isaiah further says “I will also give you for a light to the nations, that my salvation may be to the end of the earth (Isaiah 49:6).” The prophet says our mission is to light the way to salvation for the entire world.

All of which, of course, adds up to what is known as the doctrine of the election of Israel, or Jews as the “chosen people.” 

The concept of the Jews as the “chosen people” is probably one of the most misunderstood religious ideas around. Christian anti-Semitism may have had its roots in the Jews being cast as “Christ killers,” but surely our continuing to view ourselves as some sort of “chosen people” in the face of all evidence to the contrary helped fuel anti-Semitism. The sin of deicide was compounded by our stubborn sin of chutzpah.

But what does it mean to be a “chosen people?” Is the concept of the “chosen people” one that still has value, or is it an idea whose time has passed in a more egalitarian-minded world?

Tazria - Metzora 5767 -- Virginia Tech

Why?

Why should 32 students and teachers at Virginia Tech have had their lives cut so tragically short?

Austin Cloyd was one of Cho Seung-Hui's youngest victims.  The 18-year-old freshman loved to act, to sing, play volleyball, read, go shopping. She was always dressed just so. A friend remembers a trip to Old Navy taking 90 minutes of careful analysis. Bailey Hampton, a 17-year-old friend from Illinois, said she was "high-maintenance, in a good way." Always put together.

She was a dean's list student in the honors program. She was striking, very tall, with pale skin and bright red curly hair, a big smile. Chris Nicosia, a freshman, remembers turning around at the Justin Timberlake concert last month and seeing her there unexpectedly, dressed in red, completely dazzling him.

"She radiated," Martha Harter said.

Why was that radiant life filled with so much promise cut so short?

Yizkor Passover 5767

One of the great mysteries of life is our desire to know what happens when life is over.

Not infrequently, when I meet with a family that is struggling with the loss of a loved one I get asked, “what does Judaism say about the afterlife? What happens after we die?”

Judaism does not offer one universally accepted picture of the nature of olam haba, the world to come.  However, we do affirm that we have a soul, and we affirm that the soul survives. 

This is beautifully illustrated in a story, author unknown, that I heard from my classmate and colleague, Rabbi Micah Caplan:

When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember well the polished, old case, fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother used to talk to it.

Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person. Her name was "information please" and there was nothing she did not know. "Information please" could supply anybody's number and the correct time.

Shmini 5767 - the power of silence

And Nadav and Avihu, the sons of Aaron, took each of them his censer, and put fire in it, and put incense on it, and offered strange fire before the Lord, which he commanded them not. And there went out fire from the Lord, and devoured them, and they died before the Lord. Then Moses said to Aaron, This is what the Lord spoke, saying, I will be sanctified in them that come near to me, and before all the people I will be glorified. And Aaron held his peace.   …Leviticus 10:1-3

Can you imagine the pride that Aaron must have felt when he was appointed high priest?  Here he was, born and raised a slave in Egypt, yet he found himself appointed the highest religious authority of the Jewish people.  And at the same time that Aaron was appointed Kohen Gadol his sons were appointed to the very important office of priest to serve the Jewish people and to serve God.  When Aaron woke up on the morning where this week’s Torah portion, Shmini, begins--the eighth and final day of the inaugural ceremony--he probably told himself “it doesn’t get any better than this.”

                If Aaron was like most parents, he probably took even more pleasure in the appointment of his sons than he did over his own appointment.  We have so much love for our children, that in many ways we feel joy at their accomplishments even more strongly than we feel joy at our own accomplishments. What parent doesn’t know the happiness of watching his child shine?

                The flip side of that joy is that if tragedy strikes, nowhere is it more deeply felt than if it strikes one’s children.  Surely the most devastating thing to experience is the loss of a child.

Shabbat Chol haMoed Pesach 5767

“And remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt, and that the Lord your God brought you out from there with a mighty hand and with a stretched out arm; therefore the Lord your God commanded you to keep the sabbath day (Deut. 5:15).”

Today – the Shabbat during Pesach – we have a double reminder that we were slaves in the land of Egypt.  Passover itself, of course, is all about remembering our ancestral time of slavery and God’s loving redemption.  And as we said at Kiddush last night, Shabbat is zacher l’tziyat Mitzrayim, a remembrance of the Exodus from Egypt, as well as a zikaron l’ma’aseh bereshit, a remembrance of the Creation.

The connection between Shabbat and Creation is made very explicit in the Torah.  In the book of Exodus Moses tells the people “For in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, and rested the seventh day; therefore the Lord blessed the sabbath day, and made it holy.” It is a case of imitatio deus, imitating God; similarly the Torah commands us in the book of Leviticus קְדשִׁים תִּהְיוּ כִּי קָדוֹשׁ אֲנִי יי אֱ-להֵיכֶם: “you shall be holy for I the Lord your God am holy.”  The Talmud extends imitatio deus to how we should treat other people: God clothes the naked, visits the sick, and comforts mourners -- therefore, the rabbis tell us, we should do the same.

But the connection between Shabbat and being slaves in Egypt is not made so explicit.  Not surprisingly, rabbis over the ages have eagerly weighed in with reasons for the connection between slavery in Egypt and Shabbat. 

Shabbat HaGadol 5767 -- God Loves You!

God loves you.

But I don’t blame you if you don’t know it.  Most rabbis forget to point this out to their congregations.  I did a Google search on the phrase “God loves you.”  840,000 hits, and all the ones that come out on the first few pages are from Christian sites, mostly citing sending Jesus as the proof.

But Judaism does also teach that God loves you.  In fact, that is the spiritual theme for today.  Today, the Shabbat before Passover, is known as “Shabbat Hagadol,” the great Shabbat.  Last year on this Shabbat I mentioned that one of the reasons this day is called Shabbat Hagadol is because it was one of the two days a year when the rabbi would give a major sermon – the theme of today’s sermon generally being what I did last year, a review of the laws of Passover.

However, there are other more spiritual reasons given for calling today Shabbat Hagadol.  The Slonimer Rebbe points out that every Shabbat is “gadol”—as we say in the Birkat Hamazon, the grace after meals on Shabbat, לפניך  כי יום זה גדול וקדוש הוא “for this great and holy day is before you.”   So what is it that makes this Shabbat in particular so great that we call it “hagadol,” THE great Shabbat of all the great Shabbats of the year?

Vayikra 5767

If I were making a movie like “Oh God!” or “Bruce Almighty” that anthropomorphizes God and gives him a human appearance, I would definitely do one scene that showed God with an apron on and an ecstatic look on His face as he flips a burger on a grill.  Because God must surely love a barbecue.  At least that’s the way it would appear from reading not just this week’s Torah portion, Vayikra, but much of the book of Leviticus that we started reading this morning.
 

Ki Tisa 5767 - The Power of the Story

For people who witnessed a lot of miracles, like the plagues in Egypt and the parting of the Red Sea, our ancestors did not show a lot of faith.

Not long after the miracles of leaving Egypt