Among my most vivid childhood memories are the day Jenni Harris died and the following Monday when while sitting in the chair just behind her empty chair (Harrison always followed Harris in the seating chart), her death was announced over the PA system to the entire school. Losing a dear friend at such a young age leaves its mark. It was certainly my first close hand experience with death. I would venture to guess that Jenni’s death likewise left a mark on many of us, her Lower Moreland classmates.
Luckily I have many memories of Jenni’s life to offset the ones of her death. Her beaming smile and her incredible sense of humor are foremost. Cystic Fibrosis may have ravaged her body, but Jenni rarely if ever let it consume her incredible spirit. Even when the illness would flare up and hospitalization was required – as it too often was – she made the best of it with wheel chair and IV pole races up and down the halls of the peds unit at Holy Redeemer between therapies. That’s how Jenni approached life. With zest, eagerness, and a desire, like most kids, to have fun! Of course, as any kid would, Jenni hated the CF – she couldn’t stand being sick; she couldn’t stand being so skinny when all of her friends around her were growing up (and she certainly couldn’t understand when one of her friends was doing anything to fight the normal processes of puberty); and yet, despite the CF, Jenni was able to laugh through her struggles and engage fully with her life, family, and friends, for as short as it was, remaining active in all of the activities – which were many - that gave her joy really until the very end of her life.
Memory is an interesting phenomenon – two people can experience the same exact events and yet their memories of these shared events can be diametrically opposed. I could continue to share all of my personal memories of Jenni: such as playing the flute in band together or being picked on by her older brother, but each of us has memories of our classmate, Jennifer Lynn Harris, differing and varied memories for sure. Some crystal clear and others faded with the passage of time - yet, all of us who had the opportunity to know Jenni can share an important lesson from her life.
Jenni had 15 years in this world. That’s it. She lived them fully and made the very best of those few years she had facing each day with courage and all the joy she could muster. My fellow Lower Moreland classmates: we have all lived well more than twice the number of years that Jenni had -- we are nearing three times her lifetime. Let’s not take that for granted! Let’s be grateful for each and every day we have to share with our family and our friends and to be grateful for all that is good. In that way, perhaps, we can allow Jenni’s legacy to persist in this world.
In Judaism we offer the words: זכרונה לברכה (may she be remembered for a blessing) after the name of one who has deceased. Jennifer Lynn Harris, זכרונה לברכה –may Jenni’s memory survive in each of us and may she be remembered always as a blessing.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Monday, November 23, 2009
Toldot: The Chain of History, delivered Erev Shabbat Toldot
As some of you know, this past Shabbat I had the joy of celebrating with my family as the son of one of my many cousins was called to the Torah as a Bar Mitzvah. I descend from a fairly sizable family. Growing up, it was a tight nit family: cousins from both sides would gather with grandparents regularly. Seders and Chanukah parties would draw 50 some odd relatives. My family got to host one night of seder each year and the large summer swim parties (‘cause we had the big, old sunken pool in the back yard). There are stark differences between the sides of my family - my mother’s side having roots in this country that extend back at least to the Civil War and possibly to the American Revolution, while my father’s parents each immigrated here separately and by themselves from Russia and Poland between the World Wars. My mother’s parents’ home depicted the traditional set up – my grandfather a business owner, my grandmother a school teacher who ‘retired’ in order to raise kids and volunteer in her synagogue and numerous other organizations such as NOW and Hadassah. My dad’s mom, on the other hand was a career woman, a partner in hers and my grandfather’s men’s suit business. And when left suddenly a widow in mid-life, she applied that tough immigrant work ethic and ran the family business single handedly. She was the rare business woman of her generation working hard to provide for her children and put them through college (Ivy League no less – which gave her immense pride). She was a tough woman. Those pool parties were the rare occasion I saw my Grandmom Irene in something other than a business suit. My mom’s mom was a fabulous cook who nurtured us with food and my grandfather a prolific gardener. My Dad’s mom, well her cookies were as hard as golf balls, and Shake n’Bake was gourmet at her place (though it was she who taught me how to make Kasha). Yet despite all the differences, everyone in the family came together often and en mass. Now, spread out occasions such as Bar Mitzvahs, 50th wedding anniversaries, significant birthdays, and the rare Rabbinical ordination, serve as our family gatherings. Each time we gather, I am struck by the aging of my parents generation…is that my aunt who is so bent over, when did my Dad start walking so slowly…as well as the aging of my generation’s kids: how is that little Julie is already in college! The one who celebrated his Bar Mitzvah this past Shabbat - I’m sure we just celebrate his 1st birthday.
While Torah portions take their name simply from their opening words, this week’s portion’s appellation, Toldot, generations, is fitting in that it underscores the power of family and specifically the patriarchal lineage that is presented in these early stories of Bereshit.
Parashat Toldot can serve to remind us each of our place in the historical chain of Jewish history. We’ve read a lot about Abraham in the past couple of weeks. From his willingness to follow the call of lech l’cha of going forth to settle a new land and seed a new nation, to his challenging God in the story of Soddom and Gomorrah, to his purchase of that first plot of land on the soil which God has promised to his progeny, the appointment of Abraham as a patriarch of the Israelite nation is obvious. We celebrate him as the father of the Jewish people - it all starts with him.
This week’s Torah portions jumps quite quickly to Abe’s grandchildren. And, the narrative throughout the next few portions inclusive of that famous wrestling match from which Jacob will emerge a physically and emotionally changed man will make Jacob’s place among the patriarchs clear. He emerges as none other than Israel.
But what about Isaac? We read of his birth, of his travels with his father to Mount Moriah where he finds himself bound for slaughter. We read of his servant’s travels to find him a wife, but what does he do? What actions does he take? The pshat doesn’t offer much; there simply isn’t much in the narrative to go on. Isaac doesn’t appear to do anything particularly astounding. In fact on the contrary, most view Isaac as a helpless character – unable to find his own wife, unable to even give the right blessing to the right son. Maybe his political negotiations with Avimelech, the king of the Philistines, are the source of his claim to patriarchal fame? Doubtful. Rather, I’d argue that it is his sheer presence and willingness to stay connected to the family that makes him an important link in our Jewish history.
We are wonderful at celebrating the success of the individual. We tend to celebrate achievements and accomplishments as if these are the key to our legacy in the world. Isaac’s presence in the chain of our patriarchs reminds us otherwise. He didn’t have to wrestle with God to get there. BUT, he does have to bear the responsibility of passing on the values that were central to his parents to his own children.
The Midrash, drawing on a text in Leviticus where our Patriarchs are listed in reverse order: Jacob, Isaac, then Abraham, teaches that all three were on par with each other. Their individual accomplishments are worthy and important, but they do not serve to elevate one individual over another in terms of their individual status within their family and by extension among the Israelites. Their yichus, as my immigrant grandmother would have called it, comes from being committed to the chain. If Isaac opted out there would have been no Jacob to wrestle with God and become Israel.
Each and every one of us is a vital link in the chain of history. Regardless of our accomplishments or lack thereof, our presence and involvement is essential – each of us matters. And the significant role each of us has to play is to make sure this chain of Jewish history doesn’t end with us. We should all strive to be like Isaac –a critical link through which Judaism lives and is passed to the next generation.
My cousin and her husband have done and continue to do their job. Witnessing the next generation of Harrisons/Cohens/Wolfes (and soon Silvermans!) step up to the responsibility of Torah, I am confident that like Isaac my cousins and I are doing our best to be a vital link in Toldot - in Jewish history – the link between our parents and our children. How about you?
While Torah portions take their name simply from their opening words, this week’s portion’s appellation, Toldot, generations, is fitting in that it underscores the power of family and specifically the patriarchal lineage that is presented in these early stories of Bereshit.
Parashat Toldot can serve to remind us each of our place in the historical chain of Jewish history. We’ve read a lot about Abraham in the past couple of weeks. From his willingness to follow the call of lech l’cha of going forth to settle a new land and seed a new nation, to his challenging God in the story of Soddom and Gomorrah, to his purchase of that first plot of land on the soil which God has promised to his progeny, the appointment of Abraham as a patriarch of the Israelite nation is obvious. We celebrate him as the father of the Jewish people - it all starts with him.
This week’s Torah portions jumps quite quickly to Abe’s grandchildren. And, the narrative throughout the next few portions inclusive of that famous wrestling match from which Jacob will emerge a physically and emotionally changed man will make Jacob’s place among the patriarchs clear. He emerges as none other than Israel.
But what about Isaac? We read of his birth, of his travels with his father to Mount Moriah where he finds himself bound for slaughter. We read of his servant’s travels to find him a wife, but what does he do? What actions does he take? The pshat doesn’t offer much; there simply isn’t much in the narrative to go on. Isaac doesn’t appear to do anything particularly astounding. In fact on the contrary, most view Isaac as a helpless character – unable to find his own wife, unable to even give the right blessing to the right son. Maybe his political negotiations with Avimelech, the king of the Philistines, are the source of his claim to patriarchal fame? Doubtful. Rather, I’d argue that it is his sheer presence and willingness to stay connected to the family that makes him an important link in our Jewish history.
We are wonderful at celebrating the success of the individual. We tend to celebrate achievements and accomplishments as if these are the key to our legacy in the world. Isaac’s presence in the chain of our patriarchs reminds us otherwise. He didn’t have to wrestle with God to get there. BUT, he does have to bear the responsibility of passing on the values that were central to his parents to his own children.
The Midrash, drawing on a text in Leviticus where our Patriarchs are listed in reverse order: Jacob, Isaac, then Abraham, teaches that all three were on par with each other. Their individual accomplishments are worthy and important, but they do not serve to elevate one individual over another in terms of their individual status within their family and by extension among the Israelites. Their yichus, as my immigrant grandmother would have called it, comes from being committed to the chain. If Isaac opted out there would have been no Jacob to wrestle with God and become Israel.
Each and every one of us is a vital link in the chain of history. Regardless of our accomplishments or lack thereof, our presence and involvement is essential – each of us matters. And the significant role each of us has to play is to make sure this chain of Jewish history doesn’t end with us. We should all strive to be like Isaac –a critical link through which Judaism lives and is passed to the next generation.
My cousin and her husband have done and continue to do their job. Witnessing the next generation of Harrisons/Cohens/Wolfes (and soon Silvermans!) step up to the responsibility of Torah, I am confident that like Isaac my cousins and I are doing our best to be a vital link in Toldot - in Jewish history – the link between our parents and our children. How about you?
Sunday, November 8, 2009
"Where is God?" delivered Shabbat Vayera 11/7/09 by Rabbi/Cantor Rhoda JH Silverman
I admit it. Those of you who know me well may not be too surprised, but those of you who don’t, well - hold on to your seats for a confession: I am not too sure I believe in God. Whew! There. I said it. I struggle with the concept of, the belief in God, particularly a personal God. And some days, I’m far less sure than others. I doubt I am alone in this. I know that I am not alone in this, but somehow to admit this as a Rabbi, a Cantor - a Jewish leader, feels heretical. “What do you mean YOU don’t believe in God?” You might be thinking. “If you, someone who has devoted her life to Jewish study, synagogue life, and the perpetuation of Judaism, who stands on this bema and offers prayers on behalf of the kahal; if you don’t have faith, then why should I?” A valid point.
However, it should be fully noted that while I struggle with the existence of a personal God, I firmly believe in Godliness! This week’s Torah portion Vayera certainly challenges us to delve into the question of God. And a close look at the text propels me to imagine that our Biblical ancestors also struggled with the nature of God. Immediately in our portion, the line between God and humanity is blurred:וירא אליו יהוה באלני ממרא God appeared to Abraham as he was resting outside his tent under the shady oaks of Mamre in the heat of the day, then immediately וישא עיניו וירא, Abe looked up and saw שלש אנשים נצבים עליו, 3 men standing there upon him. We are informed that God makes Godself known to Abraham, but when Abraham looks up, he sees men, human beings. Three humans that tradition views, not as ordinary mortals, but as מלאכים, divine messengers. It is unclear when Abraham comes to recognize their Godliness: is part of his eagerness to serve them a recognition of their divine status? One thing is clear, the Biblical author uses these אנשים almost interchangeably with God.
The division between man and God is no less clear in the fiery story of Sodom and Gommorah. The men ַאנשים)) went up from there and gazed down upon Sodom, Abraham going along with them to send them off. The Eternal [“Adonai”] then thought “Should I hide from Abraham what I am doing?...vs. 20) The Eternal One [“Adonai”] said, ‘The outcry in Sodom and Gomorrah - how great it is, and their crime - how grave it is! Let me go down and determine whether they are wreaking havoc in equal measure to the shrieking that is coming to Me. If not, I will know. vs22) The men now turned away and went toward Sodom...
It’s as if these human men are far more than messengers, but rather agents - the eyes and ears of God - as if they and God were instant messaging information back and forth [maybe the traditionalists are right that everything of import is indeed found in Torah - look a biblical precedent for IMing]! This encounter between Abraham, these אנשים and יהוה raises a key question: is there a line between divinity and humanity? And, if so, where is it? Clearly the Biblical text regards humankind as a vehicle of divinity. Regardless of our personal faith, or lack of faith in God, this is a lesson, a model from which all of us can and should learn. Furthermore, this text challenges us to ask who is truly offering the best representation of Godliness. Are these anashim, whom we readily recognize and understand as representations of God the best exemplars of Godliness. They appear to be the vehicle by which this Adonai sees and hears what’s happening; yet, it seems to me that Abraham’s behavior is far more worthy of emulation.
Our opening verses (which our Bat Mitzvah will discuss) of course remind us of Abe’s hospitality, literally we are told that he וירץ לקראתם, eagerly runs out to greet and attend to the needs of the stranger. But even more compelling is his behavior with regard to God’s announcement regarding the destruction Sodom and Gomorrah. While the men that tradition recognizes as agents of God stand and witness the wickedness of Sodom apparently accepting their boss’ (i.e., God’s) harsh judgement as deserved without question, it is the fully mortal Abraham who is willing to speak out, to argue on behalf of the innocent, working against what is understood as the most all-powerful force - namely GOD - in order to save life. He doesn’t succeed, and we are lead to believe that there was no innocent life worth saving; regardless of his failure, his efforts are valiant and by definition, godly.
The other difficult story in Parashat Vayera - the Akeidah, the binding of Isaac - a tale that is held up in much of Rabbinic folklore as a testament to the extent and extraordinary nature of Abraham’s faith in God. A midrash preserved in Sefer Aggadah, a wonderful collection of Rabbinic legends, however, could help us understand it differently. According to this legend, Abraham had repeated opportunities presented by the advisary to change paths, yet he determinedly (stubbornly?) continues on this terrible journey to sacrifice his son. In the moment that he raises the knife, however, Abraham demands of the messengers who call to him a conversation directly with God, calling out, “I...swear that I will not go down from this altar until I say all that I need to say!” The midrash imagines Abraham continuing with a confession; and it is this confession that is open to comment: “When You - God - commanded me to sacrifice my son Isaac... I restrained my impulse and did not reply as I should have.” Historically, this confession is understood as Abraham admitting to a moment of crisis in faith (a failure of faith), before saying yes to God’s awful demand; yet, his confession could just as easily be understood as a recognition, an admittance, that he was wrong to blindly trust this absurd request.
Perhaps we are to understand that God’s reward of a blessed and numerous progeny stems from Abraham admitting that he should have said no from the start. Let us not be so quick to demand of ourselves so consistent and unwavering faith in God that we then find fault in our doubt or worse in ourselves. If Abraham, a regular joe, just like any of us, has the capacity to question what he perceives as God, and in doing so is able to act Godly in this world, than certainly can we.
However, it should be fully noted that while I struggle with the existence of a personal God, I firmly believe in Godliness! This week’s Torah portion Vayera certainly challenges us to delve into the question of God. And a close look at the text propels me to imagine that our Biblical ancestors also struggled with the nature of God. Immediately in our portion, the line between God and humanity is blurred:וירא אליו יהוה באלני ממרא God appeared to Abraham as he was resting outside his tent under the shady oaks of Mamre in the heat of the day, then immediately וישא עיניו וירא, Abe looked up and saw שלש אנשים נצבים עליו, 3 men standing there upon him. We are informed that God makes Godself known to Abraham, but when Abraham looks up, he sees men, human beings. Three humans that tradition views, not as ordinary mortals, but as מלאכים, divine messengers. It is unclear when Abraham comes to recognize their Godliness: is part of his eagerness to serve them a recognition of their divine status? One thing is clear, the Biblical author uses these אנשים almost interchangeably with God.
The division between man and God is no less clear in the fiery story of Sodom and Gommorah. The men ַאנשים)) went up from there and gazed down upon Sodom, Abraham going along with them to send them off. The Eternal [“Adonai”] then thought “Should I hide from Abraham what I am doing?...vs. 20) The Eternal One [“Adonai”] said, ‘The outcry in Sodom and Gomorrah - how great it is, and their crime - how grave it is! Let me go down and determine whether they are wreaking havoc in equal measure to the shrieking that is coming to Me. If not, I will know. vs22) The men now turned away and went toward Sodom...
It’s as if these human men are far more than messengers, but rather agents - the eyes and ears of God - as if they and God were instant messaging information back and forth [maybe the traditionalists are right that everything of import is indeed found in Torah - look a biblical precedent for IMing]! This encounter between Abraham, these אנשים and יהוה raises a key question: is there a line between divinity and humanity? And, if so, where is it? Clearly the Biblical text regards humankind as a vehicle of divinity. Regardless of our personal faith, or lack of faith in God, this is a lesson, a model from which all of us can and should learn. Furthermore, this text challenges us to ask who is truly offering the best representation of Godliness. Are these anashim, whom we readily recognize and understand as representations of God the best exemplars of Godliness. They appear to be the vehicle by which this Adonai sees and hears what’s happening; yet, it seems to me that Abraham’s behavior is far more worthy of emulation.
Our opening verses (which our Bat Mitzvah will discuss) of course remind us of Abe’s hospitality, literally we are told that he וירץ לקראתם, eagerly runs out to greet and attend to the needs of the stranger. But even more compelling is his behavior with regard to God’s announcement regarding the destruction Sodom and Gomorrah. While the men that tradition recognizes as agents of God stand and witness the wickedness of Sodom apparently accepting their boss’ (i.e., God’s) harsh judgement as deserved without question, it is the fully mortal Abraham who is willing to speak out, to argue on behalf of the innocent, working against what is understood as the most all-powerful force - namely GOD - in order to save life. He doesn’t succeed, and we are lead to believe that there was no innocent life worth saving; regardless of his failure, his efforts are valiant and by definition, godly.
The other difficult story in Parashat Vayera - the Akeidah, the binding of Isaac - a tale that is held up in much of Rabbinic folklore as a testament to the extent and extraordinary nature of Abraham’s faith in God. A midrash preserved in Sefer Aggadah, a wonderful collection of Rabbinic legends, however, could help us understand it differently. According to this legend, Abraham had repeated opportunities presented by the advisary to change paths, yet he determinedly (stubbornly?) continues on this terrible journey to sacrifice his son. In the moment that he raises the knife, however, Abraham demands of the messengers who call to him a conversation directly with God, calling out, “I...swear that I will not go down from this altar until I say all that I need to say!” The midrash imagines Abraham continuing with a confession; and it is this confession that is open to comment: “When You - God - commanded me to sacrifice my son Isaac... I restrained my impulse and did not reply as I should have.” Historically, this confession is understood as Abraham admitting to a moment of crisis in faith (a failure of faith), before saying yes to God’s awful demand; yet, his confession could just as easily be understood as a recognition, an admittance, that he was wrong to blindly trust this absurd request.
Perhaps we are to understand that God’s reward of a blessed and numerous progeny stems from Abraham admitting that he should have said no from the start. Let us not be so quick to demand of ourselves so consistent and unwavering faith in God that we then find fault in our doubt or worse in ourselves. If Abraham, a regular joe, just like any of us, has the capacity to question what he perceives as God, and in doing so is able to act Godly in this world, than certainly can we.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Lech L’cha: Go Forth, delivered Shabbat morning 10/31/2009, Rabbi/Cantor Rhoda JH Silverman
לך לך֛ These opening words of our parsha flow off the tongue beautifully in Hebrew. Any attempt at a literal translation, though, stumbles clumsily past our lips. Lech, that’s easy - “Go!”, but the l’cha raises a bit of difficulty. A word which, as is common in Hebrew, incorporates both preposition and pronoun together, it could be “to you” or “for you.” No combination of these words translated separately quite captures the essence of Lech l’cha. Rather, לך לך֛ is most accurately understand as a phrase evoking motion; the best definition, “Go forth!” implies an imperative 2nd person singular, with the ‘you’ understood rather than stated. Ah - the challenge and fun of translation, and from a Jewish approach to text, a source for rich comment.
Much of the commentary on this parasha focuses on the subject of Lech l’cha, the ‘you’ – which is, of course, Avram, who we will soon know as Abraham. The midrashim, the legends, explaining why Avram is the focus of this imperative lech l’cha are endless. The most famous, the one we learn so well as children in religious school that as adults many of us are surprised to find that it is nowhere in the Biblical text itself, may be the story about a young Abraham smashing his father’s idols and thus bravely and boldly displaying faith in a singular and invisible God. Another lovely midrash which seeks to explain why Abram is chosen to be the subject of the biblical ‘Go Forth’ imperative imagines God finding Avram from among the rest of humanity in the same way that a king finds his precious pearl buried in the dust of the earth. Still another has the Mesopotamian ruler Nimrod seeing Abraham’s rise as the father of numerous and blessed progeny predicted in the stars of the sky.
The focus of these legends are firmly on the ‘l’cha’ – an attempt to understand the choice of who. Why Abe? And, more honestly, as Jews who trace our lineage back to Abraham, what we are ultimately striving to understand is, “why us?” The tendency towards creating this apologetic explanation of why Abraham was chosen, and by extension the Israelites, for covenant in our biblical text - why us and not someone else or some other people - is rife with theological difficulty; and, Reform Judaism has openly struggled with this difficult concept of chosen-ness since its inception. I’d argue we are still struggling with finding that balance between particular- and universal - isms. By focusing on the l’cha of our command lech l’cha, however, we remain focused on this challenging question of chosenness which is frankly, in my opinion, ultimately unanswerable without a critical understanding of the historical context.
Instead, let us focus on the Lech, the verb instead of the subject. This instruction can give us clear direction, and here that English understanding “Go forth!” is extremely useful.
The opening lines of our text are filled with the promise of blessing. At first glance, it appears that we will be the passive recipients of blessing. ונברכו בך כל משפחות האדמה, “then they, all the communities of the earth, will be blessed through you” as if Avram’s actions will lead to all of us receiving blessing. This promise of future blessing appears in two other places in Genesis but with a slight emendation. In each place it reads, והתברכו בזרעך כל גוי הארץ, “then all the nations of the earth will make themselves blessed through your seed.”
The primary difference has to do with the verbal form of the word for “bless.” A brief grammar lesson. Hebrew verbs have roots that change meaning depending on their form, what we call in hebrew their binyan. In this week’s verse, the binyan is nifal, נברכו, which is generally translated as passive; hence, the translation ‘that the families/communities of the earth will be blessed through you.’ The later verses contain the hitpael verb form, התברכו, which is an active, reflexive form, ‘they shall bless themselves.’ So which is it? Do we receive blessing because Abraham was chosen; OR, do we create our own blessing because of actions we take?
Biblical scholar, E.A. Speiser argues drawing on those parallel verses that come later that even in our opening passage of Lech L’cha, the phrase should be translated in the active, reflexive form teaching us that in order to gain blessing, we each have to Lech l’cha, we have to ‘go forth.’ Ultimately this is a choice, but it isn’t God’s choice, or our ancestor’s choice. This is a choice that each and every one of us has to make.
A word to our Bat Mitzvah –
Sfat Emet, a late 19th century chasidic commentator viewed the command lech l’cha to be less about geographic movement than about being willing to carve out a new path separate from the past, being able to continually move forward, in his mind, to ‘keep walking.’ In modern psychological speak, we might call this ‘individuation’ - where an individual is able to take what she needs from what has been given her and is able to formulate her own path, make her own healthy decisions, and formulate her own opinions and unique ideas. May you, lech l’cha, go forth!, from today using all of the ideas and tools for life that you have been given so far, to hitbarech, to create your own blessing while remaining an active and full participant in our congregation and the extended Jewish community.
Much of the commentary on this parasha focuses on the subject of Lech l’cha, the ‘you’ – which is, of course, Avram, who we will soon know as Abraham. The midrashim, the legends, explaining why Avram is the focus of this imperative lech l’cha are endless. The most famous, the one we learn so well as children in religious school that as adults many of us are surprised to find that it is nowhere in the Biblical text itself, may be the story about a young Abraham smashing his father’s idols and thus bravely and boldly displaying faith in a singular and invisible God. Another lovely midrash which seeks to explain why Abram is chosen to be the subject of the biblical ‘Go Forth’ imperative imagines God finding Avram from among the rest of humanity in the same way that a king finds his precious pearl buried in the dust of the earth. Still another has the Mesopotamian ruler Nimrod seeing Abraham’s rise as the father of numerous and blessed progeny predicted in the stars of the sky.
The focus of these legends are firmly on the ‘l’cha’ – an attempt to understand the choice of who. Why Abe? And, more honestly, as Jews who trace our lineage back to Abraham, what we are ultimately striving to understand is, “why us?” The tendency towards creating this apologetic explanation of why Abraham was chosen, and by extension the Israelites, for covenant in our biblical text - why us and not someone else or some other people - is rife with theological difficulty; and, Reform Judaism has openly struggled with this difficult concept of chosen-ness since its inception. I’d argue we are still struggling with finding that balance between particular- and universal - isms. By focusing on the l’cha of our command lech l’cha, however, we remain focused on this challenging question of chosenness which is frankly, in my opinion, ultimately unanswerable without a critical understanding of the historical context.
Instead, let us focus on the Lech, the verb instead of the subject. This instruction can give us clear direction, and here that English understanding “Go forth!” is extremely useful.
The opening lines of our text are filled with the promise of blessing. At first glance, it appears that we will be the passive recipients of blessing. ונברכו בך כל משפחות האדמה, “then they, all the communities of the earth, will be blessed through you” as if Avram’s actions will lead to all of us receiving blessing. This promise of future blessing appears in two other places in Genesis but with a slight emendation. In each place it reads, והתברכו בזרעך כל גוי הארץ, “then all the nations of the earth will make themselves blessed through your seed.”
The primary difference has to do with the verbal form of the word for “bless.” A brief grammar lesson. Hebrew verbs have roots that change meaning depending on their form, what we call in hebrew their binyan. In this week’s verse, the binyan is nifal, נברכו, which is generally translated as passive; hence, the translation ‘that the families/communities of the earth will be blessed through you.’ The later verses contain the hitpael verb form, התברכו, which is an active, reflexive form, ‘they shall bless themselves.’ So which is it? Do we receive blessing because Abraham was chosen; OR, do we create our own blessing because of actions we take?
Biblical scholar, E.A. Speiser argues drawing on those parallel verses that come later that even in our opening passage of Lech L’cha, the phrase should be translated in the active, reflexive form teaching us that in order to gain blessing, we each have to Lech l’cha, we have to ‘go forth.’ Ultimately this is a choice, but it isn’t God’s choice, or our ancestor’s choice. This is a choice that each and every one of us has to make.
A word to our Bat Mitzvah –
Sfat Emet, a late 19th century chasidic commentator viewed the command lech l’cha to be less about geographic movement than about being willing to carve out a new path separate from the past, being able to continually move forward, in his mind, to ‘keep walking.’ In modern psychological speak, we might call this ‘individuation’ - where an individual is able to take what she needs from what has been given her and is able to formulate her own path, make her own healthy decisions, and formulate her own opinions and unique ideas. May you, lech l’cha, go forth!, from today using all of the ideas and tools for life that you have been given so far, to hitbarech, to create your own blessing while remaining an active and full participant in our congregation and the extended Jewish community.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
D’var Shabbat Noach, 10/24/09 Global Climate Healing Shabbat: Why bother?
Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream….merrily, merrily…life is but a dream. This ditty comes to mind whenever I see pictorial representations of the story of Noah. It’s a cute children’s song. The story of Noah is all too often presented as a cute tale for children. It adorns books, nurseries, blankets, our Temple Emanuel Learning Center walls and as well as walls in many other Jewish institutions that cater to children: schools, pediatric hospital wings, daycare centers; even the Union of Reform Judaism’s child naming certificates are beautifully adorned with Noah’s ark. Noah depicted as the nurturing caretaker, the zoo-keeper, providing for all the animals during the flood as if his ark flows ‘gently down the stream’ through the storm. I would dare to say that this is the most frequently drawn upon Torah story for children’s stuff. We don’t depict the Temple or the sacrificial cult detailed in Leviticus for our kids, though according to Rabbinic tradition Leviticus is the first book of Torah we are to teach our children; nor do we depict the Exodus from Egypt, the crossing of the Reed Sea – a defining moment in Jewish peoplehood, on the walls of our nursery schools. No, we pick this sweet story of Noah caring for the animals during the flood.
But is it really? Is it such a sweet story? God is fed up with all that that has been created – particularly humankind and decides to “לשחת כל בשר אשר בו רוח חיים” destroy every thing that breathes. All living creatures save for a number of selected representatives only 2 of whom are human are doomed to destruction. Anyone who has witnessed the devastation brought on by massive flooding knows this is at heart a violent story. Our country and particularly the regions most affected are still recovering from the catastrophic floods of 2005’s Hurricane Katrina. And our biblical narrative describes flood waters far more expansive, so high that the tallest mountains on earth were completely submerged bringing destruction and death to any and all life on earth. Carefully, painfully, the text explains: וימ֜ח את כל היק֣וּם אש֣ר על פנ֣י האדמ֗ה מאד֤ם עד בהמה֙ עד ר֙מש֙ ועד או֣ף השמ֔ים וימָ֖חוּ מן הא֑רץ ויִשָ֧אֶר אך נ֛ח ואש֥ר אִת֖ו בתבֽה, "God wiped out all that was on the face of the earth, from man to beast, from all that crawls to the birds in the sky, they were all wiped out from the earth. Only Noah and that which was with him in the ark remained." Bringing some goats and doves up as sacrificial offerings to God seems to me like light reading in comparison.
Perhaps we lighten it into a children’s story because we fear facing the horror of it. Denial is a very real psychological phenomenon! And it works.
Today has been labeled International Day of Climate Action. Jews have joined the hundreds of thousands of people in 158 countries who will be participating in this call to action by identifying this Shabbat, Shabbat Noah, as Global Climate Healing Shabbat. Today is expected to be the most widespread day of environmental action in our planet’s history. Extraordinary, really.
But why bother? There are many who argue that we are dealing with improbable, unpredictable, even uncontrollable phenomena; and, some of their arguments seem awfully compelling. Denial is easier, isn’t it. Sun columnist Mike Tidwell reminded us this past week that we “…comfortable Americans tend to view really big catastrophes such as tsunamis and famines as far away matters involving people usually too poor or undereducated to plan better.” But this does impact us, and this isn’t some children’s story, or even a tale we can dismiss as Mesopotamian myth like we can with our biblical text. This is our 21st century reality, and we’ve had our heads buried in the sand (whatever’s left of it) for far too long.
Twenty-one years ago, I was finishing up college, considering grad schools, diligently working at various jobs between classes while trying to maintain some assemblance of a social life. Twenty-one years ago, I blissfully knew nothing of the first congressional testimony regarding Global warming. I admit, I was a late bloomer when it came to interest in current events, but environmental and climate issues were far from most of society’s mainstream consciousness; this was a time when even recycling was limited to special event organizational drives. As early as 1988, though, Dr. James Hansen, of NASA, a scientist who perhaps has been studying climate trends for longer than anyone else, testified before our United States Congress that Global warming is real and has serious consequences if left unchecked.
Two decades later, we are finally beginning to pay serious attention. 350.org, the sponsor of today’s International Climate Day and the motivator behind our Global Climate Healing Shabbat, views an international treaty as paramount to combating global warming and its consequences. Few remain confident that one will pass this December in Copenhagen as was hoped when leaders from the international community first began meeting, but at least the issue is being recognized and efforts are being made to further the environmentalist agenda. The momentum must continue, and we can do our part by encouraging our political leaders to stay the course and remain proactive on environmental issues.
350.org did not consult the Jewish calendar when selecting this date. Its confluence with parashat Noach – and this story of rising flood waters, is pure accident, yet it is fitting. It reminds us of our dependence on the earth’s resources for our survival and the extraordinary power of nature.
Our Torah portion tells the story of what happens when society is left unchecked. There are a variety of ways to understand the text. A fundamentalist reading strives to blame such natural climate phenomena on behavior that doesn’t fit into the overly rigid moral agenda of the religious right. The historical Rabbinic reading, our midrashic sages blamed such phenomena on the yetzer ha-ra, the human inclination towards lawlessness that was said to run rampant in Noah’s day. Today we recognize the science behind the pattern of global warming, a trend that if left unchecked could lead to continual glacial melting and subsequent flooding. Our behavior is critical – but the behavior that we now know is critical has all to do with our environmental choices. These must begin take on a moral imperative.
350.org takes its name from the upper limit (350 ppm) of carbon dioxide that is viewed by scientists across the board as the safe limit for the continued healthy functioning of our planet. America, while certainly not the largest producer of CO2 in gross output (I believe China and India can battle for that honor), yet we produce more CO2 per person than virtually every other country in the world.
It may not seem it, but there is much we can do to make a difference, and even small choices make an impact. The Baltimore Jewish Environmental Network (BJEN) has many suggestions which are listed on our website and on a poster in our lobby that range from planting trees, reducing our dependence on the automobile, changing what kind of light bulb we choose to use in our homes and offices, to simply unplugging unused electrical appliances and chargers. But we do have to make the choice to respond and act.
Our Torah portion makes it clear that humans continued to make poor choices even after the apparent lesson of the flood – we are far from perfect, we are inherently flawed. Yet we also have the capacity for incredible goodness. The text also makes clear that God recognizes this inherent goodness, for God decides never again to destroy humanity despite the fact that we will make mistakes. The symbol of this promise is of course the rainbow. The Hebrew is clear that this bow is far more than picturesque symbol; it is a tangible sign of, brit, of covenant. Covenant demands a partnership, an agreement between two parties by which both parties have responsibility. The text never outlines the human part of the deal that is left for our imagination. So, let us imagine that our responsibility is to wake up to the reality of what we can do to take care of this planet and do it, one small step at a time.
Noah according to the Biblical accounting lived interestingly enough 350 years after the flood. Let that span of his life, after the covenant of God’s rainbow, be a reminder of our part in reaching the communal goal of keeping our carbon dioxide emissions below that 350 ppm upper limit. If we don’t do our part to heal our planet earth, if warming trends and the melting of our earth’s glaciers continues, only we will be to be blame. And I guarantee we and our progeny won’t be rowing so merrily down the stream.
But is it really? Is it such a sweet story? God is fed up with all that that has been created – particularly humankind and decides to “לשחת כל בשר אשר בו רוח חיים” destroy every thing that breathes. All living creatures save for a number of selected representatives only 2 of whom are human are doomed to destruction. Anyone who has witnessed the devastation brought on by massive flooding knows this is at heart a violent story. Our country and particularly the regions most affected are still recovering from the catastrophic floods of 2005’s Hurricane Katrina. And our biblical narrative describes flood waters far more expansive, so high that the tallest mountains on earth were completely submerged bringing destruction and death to any and all life on earth. Carefully, painfully, the text explains: וימ֜ח את כל היק֣וּם אש֣ר על פנ֣י האדמ֗ה מאד֤ם עד בהמה֙ עד ר֙מש֙ ועד או֣ף השמ֔ים וימָ֖חוּ מן הא֑רץ ויִשָ֧אֶר אך נ֛ח ואש֥ר אִת֖ו בתבֽה, "God wiped out all that was on the face of the earth, from man to beast, from all that crawls to the birds in the sky, they were all wiped out from the earth. Only Noah and that which was with him in the ark remained." Bringing some goats and doves up as sacrificial offerings to God seems to me like light reading in comparison.
Perhaps we lighten it into a children’s story because we fear facing the horror of it. Denial is a very real psychological phenomenon! And it works.
Today has been labeled International Day of Climate Action. Jews have joined the hundreds of thousands of people in 158 countries who will be participating in this call to action by identifying this Shabbat, Shabbat Noah, as Global Climate Healing Shabbat. Today is expected to be the most widespread day of environmental action in our planet’s history. Extraordinary, really.
But why bother? There are many who argue that we are dealing with improbable, unpredictable, even uncontrollable phenomena; and, some of their arguments seem awfully compelling. Denial is easier, isn’t it. Sun columnist Mike Tidwell reminded us this past week that we “…comfortable Americans tend to view really big catastrophes such as tsunamis and famines as far away matters involving people usually too poor or undereducated to plan better.” But this does impact us, and this isn’t some children’s story, or even a tale we can dismiss as Mesopotamian myth like we can with our biblical text. This is our 21st century reality, and we’ve had our heads buried in the sand (whatever’s left of it) for far too long.
Twenty-one years ago, I was finishing up college, considering grad schools, diligently working at various jobs between classes while trying to maintain some assemblance of a social life. Twenty-one years ago, I blissfully knew nothing of the first congressional testimony regarding Global warming. I admit, I was a late bloomer when it came to interest in current events, but environmental and climate issues were far from most of society’s mainstream consciousness; this was a time when even recycling was limited to special event organizational drives. As early as 1988, though, Dr. James Hansen, of NASA, a scientist who perhaps has been studying climate trends for longer than anyone else, testified before our United States Congress that Global warming is real and has serious consequences if left unchecked.
Two decades later, we are finally beginning to pay serious attention. 350.org, the sponsor of today’s International Climate Day and the motivator behind our Global Climate Healing Shabbat, views an international treaty as paramount to combating global warming and its consequences. Few remain confident that one will pass this December in Copenhagen as was hoped when leaders from the international community first began meeting, but at least the issue is being recognized and efforts are being made to further the environmentalist agenda. The momentum must continue, and we can do our part by encouraging our political leaders to stay the course and remain proactive on environmental issues.
350.org did not consult the Jewish calendar when selecting this date. Its confluence with parashat Noach – and this story of rising flood waters, is pure accident, yet it is fitting. It reminds us of our dependence on the earth’s resources for our survival and the extraordinary power of nature.
Our Torah portion tells the story of what happens when society is left unchecked. There are a variety of ways to understand the text. A fundamentalist reading strives to blame such natural climate phenomena on behavior that doesn’t fit into the overly rigid moral agenda of the religious right. The historical Rabbinic reading, our midrashic sages blamed such phenomena on the yetzer ha-ra, the human inclination towards lawlessness that was said to run rampant in Noah’s day. Today we recognize the science behind the pattern of global warming, a trend that if left unchecked could lead to continual glacial melting and subsequent flooding. Our behavior is critical – but the behavior that we now know is critical has all to do with our environmental choices. These must begin take on a moral imperative.
350.org takes its name from the upper limit (350 ppm) of carbon dioxide that is viewed by scientists across the board as the safe limit for the continued healthy functioning of our planet. America, while certainly not the largest producer of CO2 in gross output (I believe China and India can battle for that honor), yet we produce more CO2 per person than virtually every other country in the world.
It may not seem it, but there is much we can do to make a difference, and even small choices make an impact. The Baltimore Jewish Environmental Network (BJEN) has many suggestions which are listed on our website and on a poster in our lobby that range from planting trees, reducing our dependence on the automobile, changing what kind of light bulb we choose to use in our homes and offices, to simply unplugging unused electrical appliances and chargers. But we do have to make the choice to respond and act.
Our Torah portion makes it clear that humans continued to make poor choices even after the apparent lesson of the flood – we are far from perfect, we are inherently flawed. Yet we also have the capacity for incredible goodness. The text also makes clear that God recognizes this inherent goodness, for God decides never again to destroy humanity despite the fact that we will make mistakes. The symbol of this promise is of course the rainbow. The Hebrew is clear that this bow is far more than picturesque symbol; it is a tangible sign of, brit, of covenant. Covenant demands a partnership, an agreement between two parties by which both parties have responsibility. The text never outlines the human part of the deal that is left for our imagination. So, let us imagine that our responsibility is to wake up to the reality of what we can do to take care of this planet and do it, one small step at a time.
Noah according to the Biblical accounting lived interestingly enough 350 years after the flood. Let that span of his life, after the covenant of God’s rainbow, be a reminder of our part in reaching the communal goal of keeping our carbon dioxide emissions below that 350 ppm upper limit. If we don’t do our part to heal our planet earth, if warming trends and the melting of our earth’s glaciers continues, only we will be to be blame. And I guarantee we and our progeny won’t be rowing so merrily down the stream.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Bereshit: A Model of Tolerance, delivered 10/16/2009 Rabbi Rhoda JH Silverman
We live, it seems, in a world of increasing divisiveness and intolerance of the other – perhaps this is a function of the economic stresses of the world that will fade once stability is restored. I am too young to know from actual experience if our nation faced such divisiveness in the last period of great economic depression to which this one is so often compared, and I am far from an expert on this relatively recent historical period; yet my sense from my limited reading is that our social and cultural response today is different. Perhaps time has softened the historical memory, but it appears to me that whereas in the past great stress brought our country together creating bonds among citizens, today it seems to be feeding a growing disparity between the right and the left and an increasing lack of tolerance for each other’s point of view.
Parashat Bereshit offers us a model of tolerance for differing views. Two creation stories are contained this week’s portion – two very different creation stories that despite the traditionalist and theological attempts to reconcile them into one story reflect drastically opposing world views.
The first, a story that like much of the biblical text – particularly the material attributed to the Priestly hand (as is this) - is difficult to date. There are a couple of differing and compelling scholarly theories, yet clearly it reveals an awareness of Mesopotamian mythology and thus may have roots in that culture. This presentation of creation is an orderly and systematic accounting of the world’s creation out, תהו ובהו, of utter chaos. It is memorable – “בראשית ברא אלהים” – at the start, or as popularly translated, ‘in the beginning,’ God created…” as God proceeds carefully through each day commanding ‘ויאמר אלהים’, through speech, the creation of light, land & water, vegetation, the lights in the sky including the sun, moon, and starts, the animals that fill our earth, and of course humankind.
It’s a lovely story in its order and simplicity: God is all-powerful and systematic; and humans are simply one element among a grand litany of God’s creations. Certainly we humans are differentiated from the rest of God’s creation, not only by the use of the Hebrew word ויברא in place of the word ויעש– the verb used for the rest of creation, but also by the statement that we are בצלם אלהים, made in God’s image. Like God, we are given power over other creations, yet despite humans being given special consideration (and the midrashist’s interpretation that the world was created entirely for our sake), the creation of man is not the central facet of this story of creation. Creating divine order out of disorder is.
Story two, most probably an older textual tradition (attributed to the J strand), offers a different opinion. Here, despite the passage creating an expectation that we will now hear אלה תולדות השמים והארץ בהבראם, a chronicled history of the making of heaven and earth, man takes center stage in no less than 3 verses and remains central throughout the rest of the story, the raison d’etre for the creation of all other animals. Unlike the first story presented, this rendition is far from orderly – on the contrary, the author is far less concerned with outlining an ordered and detailed litany of creation than with explaining the human condition. If anything, creation goes from order, gan eden, to chaos in this version. Moreover, there is no b’tzelem Elohim. On the contrary, there is the implication that God doesn’t want humans to be God-like, at least if we are to believe the serpant: “כי וֹדֵעַ אלהים כי ביום אכָלכם ממנו ונפקחו עיניכם והייתם כּאלהים...,” “God knows that on the day that you eat from that tree, the tree of knowledge, your eyes will be opened and v’hyitem k’Elohim, you will be like God.” God is not all-powerful in this story, rather the free will of human beings interferes with God’s control of order shatters the orderliness, the paradise, of Eden.
So which is it? The former offers a version where order is paramount and a Divinely dictated hierarchy is implicit. All creation comes from the word of God. The latter offers a version where earth is not only primary but serves as literally the source material for mankind who then becomes the center of all attention and all further creative activity, some good and some not so good. Theologians throughout history have worked to reconcile these two stories into a seamless whole, and some have striven to use their theology in order to scientifically explain creation; yet, be clear that regardless of any creationist attempt at creating science out of theology, the biblical text was never intended to serve as scientific truth. Rather the intent of the biblical author (whether God or human hand – that of course is another question entirely, and most everyone here should know where I stand on that issue), was to introduce ideology, a moral code – a way of understanding the universe, not necessarily knowing the universe. Science, as a discipline, comes much later.
The goal of Torah is to explain the selection of the Israelites, to couple them with this God known as י-ה-ו-ה and to the Land of Canaan, and to follow their journey to this place. Parashat Bereshit really does nothing to further this specific agenda; but, it does provide important background, a preface, if you will, to the story of our national development. It provides a universal setting and primeval history to the birth of a specific people. At the same time, these stories present different philosophies on the nature of human kind – they prioritize different ideas; and, and here’s the point: from the Torah’s perspective, it doesn’t matter! What is important to the wholeness of Torah is that these stories share the then innovative idea of an ever-present and singular God.
Perhaps the inclusion of these two diametrically opposed stories by the final biblical redactor was purposeful as a reminder to all future generations – including us - that Judaism has never been monolithic; there is, and always has been, room for difference of opinion and for debate. It is that very fluidity and open mindedness that keeps Jewish life growing and thoroughly enriching.
Liberals and Conservatives have similar ultimate goals – we all want peace, here and abroad; we all want affordable health care, and we expect those most in need to be cared for properly; we all want jobs – and the opportunity to feel productive while experiencing the joy of our world; we all want a stable economy and affordable housing. We all care about life, protecting it and ensuring the mental and physical health of all humankind. There are different opinions as to how to accomplish all of these goals; and mostly like there is more than one right way of how to get there, but we won’t get there if we remain divided, unwilling to fully listen and hear, to work with and ultimately compromise with each other.
The Biblical text is clear, whether made b’tzelem Elohim, in the image of God, or from the very dust of the earth – or somehow both – we humans all share our humanity in common however that humanity has come to be. Let the difference of opinion, the diversity inherent and retained in our biblical text help us counter fundamentalist and rigid ideology. Let it serve as a model of tolerance for us in this challenging economic and political climate. Let it remind us that it is through the diversity of opinion and open minded compromise that the solutions to our most difficult challenges will be found.
Ken y’hi ratzon!
Parashat Bereshit offers us a model of tolerance for differing views. Two creation stories are contained this week’s portion – two very different creation stories that despite the traditionalist and theological attempts to reconcile them into one story reflect drastically opposing world views.
The first, a story that like much of the biblical text – particularly the material attributed to the Priestly hand (as is this) - is difficult to date. There are a couple of differing and compelling scholarly theories, yet clearly it reveals an awareness of Mesopotamian mythology and thus may have roots in that culture. This presentation of creation is an orderly and systematic accounting of the world’s creation out, תהו ובהו, of utter chaos. It is memorable – “בראשית ברא אלהים” – at the start, or as popularly translated, ‘in the beginning,’ God created…” as God proceeds carefully through each day commanding ‘ויאמר אלהים’, through speech, the creation of light, land & water, vegetation, the lights in the sky including the sun, moon, and starts, the animals that fill our earth, and of course humankind.
It’s a lovely story in its order and simplicity: God is all-powerful and systematic; and humans are simply one element among a grand litany of God’s creations. Certainly we humans are differentiated from the rest of God’s creation, not only by the use of the Hebrew word ויברא in place of the word ויעש– the verb used for the rest of creation, but also by the statement that we are בצלם אלהים, made in God’s image. Like God, we are given power over other creations, yet despite humans being given special consideration (and the midrashist’s interpretation that the world was created entirely for our sake), the creation of man is not the central facet of this story of creation. Creating divine order out of disorder is.
Story two, most probably an older textual tradition (attributed to the J strand), offers a different opinion. Here, despite the passage creating an expectation that we will now hear אלה תולדות השמים והארץ בהבראם, a chronicled history of the making of heaven and earth, man takes center stage in no less than 3 verses and remains central throughout the rest of the story, the raison d’etre for the creation of all other animals. Unlike the first story presented, this rendition is far from orderly – on the contrary, the author is far less concerned with outlining an ordered and detailed litany of creation than with explaining the human condition. If anything, creation goes from order, gan eden, to chaos in this version. Moreover, there is no b’tzelem Elohim. On the contrary, there is the implication that God doesn’t want humans to be God-like, at least if we are to believe the serpant: “כי וֹדֵעַ אלהים כי ביום אכָלכם ממנו ונפקחו עיניכם והייתם כּאלהים...,” “God knows that on the day that you eat from that tree, the tree of knowledge, your eyes will be opened and v’hyitem k’Elohim, you will be like God.” God is not all-powerful in this story, rather the free will of human beings interferes with God’s control of order shatters the orderliness, the paradise, of Eden.
So which is it? The former offers a version where order is paramount and a Divinely dictated hierarchy is implicit. All creation comes from the word of God. The latter offers a version where earth is not only primary but serves as literally the source material for mankind who then becomes the center of all attention and all further creative activity, some good and some not so good. Theologians throughout history have worked to reconcile these two stories into a seamless whole, and some have striven to use their theology in order to scientifically explain creation; yet, be clear that regardless of any creationist attempt at creating science out of theology, the biblical text was never intended to serve as scientific truth. Rather the intent of the biblical author (whether God or human hand – that of course is another question entirely, and most everyone here should know where I stand on that issue), was to introduce ideology, a moral code – a way of understanding the universe, not necessarily knowing the universe. Science, as a discipline, comes much later.
The goal of Torah is to explain the selection of the Israelites, to couple them with this God known as י-ה-ו-ה and to the Land of Canaan, and to follow their journey to this place. Parashat Bereshit really does nothing to further this specific agenda; but, it does provide important background, a preface, if you will, to the story of our national development. It provides a universal setting and primeval history to the birth of a specific people. At the same time, these stories present different philosophies on the nature of human kind – they prioritize different ideas; and, and here’s the point: from the Torah’s perspective, it doesn’t matter! What is important to the wholeness of Torah is that these stories share the then innovative idea of an ever-present and singular God.
Perhaps the inclusion of these two diametrically opposed stories by the final biblical redactor was purposeful as a reminder to all future generations – including us - that Judaism has never been monolithic; there is, and always has been, room for difference of opinion and for debate. It is that very fluidity and open mindedness that keeps Jewish life growing and thoroughly enriching.
Liberals and Conservatives have similar ultimate goals – we all want peace, here and abroad; we all want affordable health care, and we expect those most in need to be cared for properly; we all want jobs – and the opportunity to feel productive while experiencing the joy of our world; we all want a stable economy and affordable housing. We all care about life, protecting it and ensuring the mental and physical health of all humankind. There are different opinions as to how to accomplish all of these goals; and mostly like there is more than one right way of how to get there, but we won’t get there if we remain divided, unwilling to fully listen and hear, to work with and ultimately compromise with each other.
The Biblical text is clear, whether made b’tzelem Elohim, in the image of God, or from the very dust of the earth – or somehow both – we humans all share our humanity in common however that humanity has come to be. Let the difference of opinion, the diversity inherent and retained in our biblical text help us counter fundamentalist and rigid ideology. Let it serve as a model of tolerance for us in this challenging economic and political climate. Let it remind us that it is through the diversity of opinion and open minded compromise that the solutions to our most difficult challenges will be found.
Ken y’hi ratzon!
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Be Happy! Delivered Shabbat/Sukkot morning, October 3, 2009/15 Tishre 5770
Shabbat/Sukkot 1, 15 Tishrei 5770
_______________________________________________
This special portion for the holiday of Sukkot, a passage from parashat Emor, details what we are supposed to do. The requirements are outlined clearly:
• On the first day and the last day, don’t go to work; it is a sacred day that demands complete rest. That’s clear, no? Whether we choose to honor that commandment, well that’s another story, but the expectation is clearly stated for us to understand: these days are to be set aside as distinct and deserving of שבתון.
• For 7 days, bring offerings: meal offerings, burnt offerings, sacrifices, etc. to God. Okay - an instruction that at first glance seems no longer relevant -- we worship, thankfully, in an entirely different manner today; but, in the context of the biblical period, it is clear what was expected: a public expression of worship and appreciation for this specific holiday, separate from anything else.
• We are commanded to gather together the 4 species: פרי עץ הדר, כפת תמרים, ענף עץ עבת, & ערבי נחל, together known as the lulav and etrog. No explanation is given here in this particular passage, but it is a tangible and clear instruction nonetheless.
• We are commanded to live in booths, in sukkot during the holiday - not only a tangible task, but one with a reason offered namely to remind us that the Israelites lived in temporary dwellings after they were redeemed from Egypt.
There is one last commandment offered in this festival passage that our Bar Mitzvah will recite in just a few moments:
ושמחתם לפני יהוה ואלהיכם שבעת ימים.- “You shall rejoice before Adonai your God seven days.”
Many of us, particularly the adults in the kahal (Oliver & his friends perhaps may be to young) may be familiar with the Bobby McFerrin song, “Don’t Worry, Be Happy.” This now old song pops into my head every time I read this passage. ושמחתם - it’s not a suggestion rather our text is clear: וחגתם אתו חג ליהוה שבעת ימים בשנה חקת עולם לדרתיכם....(ויקרא כג) - “you shall make it a festival to Adonai - to God for 7 days a year; it is a chok, a law for all time throughout your generations”, in other words, forever. Again, this isn’t a recommendation or a suggestion, this is a command: “You, be happy! And be so for 7 days”. Moreover - and here’s the catch- rejoice while outside in the sukkah, that fragile incomplete shelter that is susceptible to wind and rain and that has little room for any material belongings.
On Thursday of this week, China celebrated the milestone of their nation’s 60th anniversary, a celebration that stands in stark contrast to the expectation of this command. Based on reports in the paper, this anniversary was marked with the kind of pomp, materialistic display, military bravado, and rejoicing that one might expect at such a celebration - especially for this country which is proud of and eager to revel in its growing position as a world power. It is easy to rejoice and celebrate in our material achievements. The timing of this nationalistic display, though, can serve to remind us of the very different intent of our biblical command, ושמחתם, to rejoice.
Sukkot requires that we rejoice despite our being out in the most simple and fragile of settings separated from those very material things that we think give us security or power. We are expected - we again are commanded - to rejoice in the simplest of pleasures: inviting guests and sharing a meal not in our elaborate redesigned 21st century kitchens with its granite counter tops and stainless appliances, but in our fragile and often less than comfortable sukkahs accessorized with perhaps a picnic table and folding chairs, but hopefully filled with people.
It is nice to have things. It is nice to surround ourselves with all of the comforts of modernity and the excesses of American consumerism; yet it is all too easy to allow ourselves to mistakenly equate these material and tangible things and structures in our lives with security and protection from our own human frailties and the reality of our mortality.
Sukkot with its seemingly paradoxical focus on the temporary and shaky sukkah and the simultaneous commandment of s’machtem, of rejoicing, reminds us that not only can we not escape insecurity of the human condition, but that we must find a way to celebrate and rejoice in our lives, in our humanity, despite it.
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This special portion for the holiday of Sukkot, a passage from parashat Emor, details what we are supposed to do. The requirements are outlined clearly:
• On the first day and the last day, don’t go to work; it is a sacred day that demands complete rest. That’s clear, no? Whether we choose to honor that commandment, well that’s another story, but the expectation is clearly stated for us to understand: these days are to be set aside as distinct and deserving of שבתון.
• For 7 days, bring offerings: meal offerings, burnt offerings, sacrifices, etc. to God. Okay - an instruction that at first glance seems no longer relevant -- we worship, thankfully, in an entirely different manner today; but, in the context of the biblical period, it is clear what was expected: a public expression of worship and appreciation for this specific holiday, separate from anything else.
• We are commanded to gather together the 4 species: פרי עץ הדר, כפת תמרים, ענף עץ עבת, & ערבי נחל, together known as the lulav and etrog. No explanation is given here in this particular passage, but it is a tangible and clear instruction nonetheless.
• We are commanded to live in booths, in sukkot during the holiday - not only a tangible task, but one with a reason offered namely to remind us that the Israelites lived in temporary dwellings after they were redeemed from Egypt.
There is one last commandment offered in this festival passage that our Bar Mitzvah will recite in just a few moments:
ושמחתם לפני יהוה ואלהיכם שבעת ימים.- “You shall rejoice before Adonai your God seven days.”
Many of us, particularly the adults in the kahal (Oliver & his friends perhaps may be to young) may be familiar with the Bobby McFerrin song, “Don’t Worry, Be Happy.” This now old song pops into my head every time I read this passage. ושמחתם - it’s not a suggestion rather our text is clear: וחגתם אתו חג ליהוה שבעת ימים בשנה חקת עולם לדרתיכם....(ויקרא כג) - “you shall make it a festival to Adonai - to God for 7 days a year; it is a chok, a law for all time throughout your generations”, in other words, forever. Again, this isn’t a recommendation or a suggestion, this is a command: “You, be happy! And be so for 7 days”. Moreover - and here’s the catch- rejoice while outside in the sukkah, that fragile incomplete shelter that is susceptible to wind and rain and that has little room for any material belongings.
On Thursday of this week, China celebrated the milestone of their nation’s 60th anniversary, a celebration that stands in stark contrast to the expectation of this command. Based on reports in the paper, this anniversary was marked with the kind of pomp, materialistic display, military bravado, and rejoicing that one might expect at such a celebration - especially for this country which is proud of and eager to revel in its growing position as a world power. It is easy to rejoice and celebrate in our material achievements. The timing of this nationalistic display, though, can serve to remind us of the very different intent of our biblical command, ושמחתם, to rejoice.
Sukkot requires that we rejoice despite our being out in the most simple and fragile of settings separated from those very material things that we think give us security or power. We are expected - we again are commanded - to rejoice in the simplest of pleasures: inviting guests and sharing a meal not in our elaborate redesigned 21st century kitchens with its granite counter tops and stainless appliances, but in our fragile and often less than comfortable sukkahs accessorized with perhaps a picnic table and folding chairs, but hopefully filled with people.
It is nice to have things. It is nice to surround ourselves with all of the comforts of modernity and the excesses of American consumerism; yet it is all too easy to allow ourselves to mistakenly equate these material and tangible things and structures in our lives with security and protection from our own human frailties and the reality of our mortality.
Sukkot with its seemingly paradoxical focus on the temporary and shaky sukkah and the simultaneous commandment of s’machtem, of rejoicing, reminds us that not only can we not escape insecurity of the human condition, but that we must find a way to celebrate and rejoice in our lives, in our humanity, despite it.
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