Shedding the Fur Coat and Faith – Parshat Noah and Tov l’hodot

Torah – A Tzaddik in a Fur Coat

Chassidic master Rabbi Mendel of Kotzk once referred to a certain rabbi as ah tzaddik in peltz — “a righteous person in a fur coat.”

The Kotzker explained: When it is winter and it’s freezing cold, there are two things one can do. One can build a fire, or one can wrap oneself in a fur coat. In both cases, the person is warm. But when one builds a fire, all who gather round will also be warmed. With the fur coat, the only one who is warmed is the one who wears the coat.

It’s the same for spiritual warmth — one can be a tzaddik in a fur coat….

Noah is described in the Torah as “a righteous man, perfect in his generations; Noah walked with God.” Yet, as Rabbi Jonathan Sacks claims, Noah was not a leader. He was, as the Kotzker Rebbe taught, a tzaddik in peltz; he himself may have been righteous, but he didn’t have the ability, or maybe the will, to inspire people to seek out haShem. Instead of building a fire to allow all to get warm, he kept the warmth to himself.

In our own lives, in our families, in our businesses, are we creating power structures where we warm only ourselves, or are we inspiring others to be and bring their full selves?

Source: Chabad

Tefillah- A Deeper Faith

Tov l’hodot ladonai, ul’zamer l’simcha elyon. L’hagid baboker chasdecha, v’emunatcha baleilot. (Psalm 92)

It’s great to give praise to the Master, and to joyfully praise the Most High. To sing of Your love in the morning, and Your faith in the night. The Holy Rebbe of Aleksander (1879-1943) would say, ‘L’hagid baboker chasdecha’, “to sing of your love in the morning,” refers to times when things are bright and shining. It’s very easy to praise God in those times. But what do I do at night, in moments when everything is darkness? When my world is dark, I need to turn inside, to something deeper: Not just how much I believe in God, but how much God believes in me. “V’emunatcha baleilot,” God’s faith in the night.
When was the last time you understood that someone believed in you? That they had faith in you, wholly and unconditionally? We often think of our faith, or lack of faith, in a higher power. But do we ever think of haShem’s faith in us to do the work that we are put on earth to do? Especially when the night is dark, the floods have come, and you lose your way, know that haShem has faith that you can return to the essence of who you are, to be steadfast in your mission. And remember to tell those you love that you believe in them, as that Emunah is also invaluable and Divine.

Parshat Terumah – When The Trees Were Martyrs | Or Chadash | Mishkan Song!

Torah: When The Trees Were Martyrs

“The political, economic and cultural welfare of the Arabs will thus always remain one of the main conditions for the well-being of the land of Israel.” Ze’ev Jabotinsky (1880-1940), Was Wollen die Zionisten-Revisionisten, 1926

A few weeks ago, I visited the soon to be demolished Israeli Bedouin village of Umm al-Hiran, located in the Negev (southern Israel). At the time of our visit, ten houses had just been demolished, and the incident in which a Bedouin man was shot in his car, which led to his killing a security official, was fresh in the air. The village, which has existed since military police moved them there in the 1950s, is an unrecognized village. Now, with a new, Jewish town set to be built on the same location, the Bedouin of the town have weeks at the most before they’re evicted (for more on the history of the Bedouin in the Negev, see here). It was in this context that I, along with T’ruah: The Rabbinic Call for Human Rights, paid a solidarity visit.

Our main task was to plant olive trees in the courtyard surrounding the mosque alongside villagers. In all likelihood, the mosque, and consequently the trees, would be the last area to be destroyed. I thought back to the story of Honi, who stumbled across an old man planting a carob tree. “Old man,” he asked, “do you expect to be alive to eat the fruit of this tree?” The old man responded, “Perhaps not. However, when I was born into this world, I found many carob trees planted by my father and grandfather. Just as they planted trees for me, I am planting trees for my children and grandchildren so they will be able to eat the fruit of these trees.” Back in Umm al-Hiran, I wondered, what was the point of planting these trees, which will never bear fruit?

In Parshat Terumah, we receive the details of how the Mishkan, the Tabernacle, should be built. One particular detail stands out: The shittim, acacia wood, which was to be used for boards and walls. Where did they find acacia in the middle of the desert? Midrash Tanchuma comments:

“Ya’akov Avinu planted them when he went down to Egypt. He said to his sons: ‘My sons, you will eventually be redeemed from here, and after you are redeemed, the Holy Blessing One will command you to make Him a Mishkan. Therefore, arise and plant cedars now, so that when He tells you to make Him a Mishkan, the cedars will be ready for you…’”

Ya’akov Avinu knew that these trees would be used by the Israelites to one day build the Mishkan, but they served an additional purpose as well. These trees were a sign of hope, a promise of the coming redemption. They reminded people that even in the worst of situations, one should remain hopeful.

In Umm al-Hiran, I realized that while the physical trees may not bear fruit, the seeds of hope and humanity we planted may yet grow. By standing in solidarity with the villagers, we showed them that Jews are not just cruel oppressors, but that there are Jews who are willing to stand with them and who seek to build a joint life together. May the Holy Blessing One bless these and all of our efforts to build bridges, within and without, with plentiful fruit.

T’fillah: Or Chadash

“He made narrowing windows for the Temple” (I Kings 6:4)

The Haftarah for Terumah parallels the parashah; both are filled with the details of a building which is to house the Divine. In the Haftarah, King Shlomo builds the Temple in an unorthodox style. Instead of the windows being narrow at the entrance and wide within to let the light in, they are built in the opposite direction, with the narrow end on the inside. Midrash Tanchuma (4:3:2) explains that it was built so that the light from the Beit HaMikdash would illuminate the entire world.

We see this idea in our morning prayers: “Or chadash al Tzion tair, v’nizkeh chulanu mehera l’oro, May You make a new light shine over Zion, and may we all soon be worthy of its light.” While it’s up to the Divine to shine its light, we are not powerless. What are you doing today to shine your own light into the world?

Bonus: Mishkan Song!

Check out the Mishkan Song by Eliana Light. The full version is available on her new album of Jewish ritual music, called Eliana Sings (About Jewish Things!). Get the full album here.

View a PDF of this Torah here.

Sam Blustin is an alumnus of the Conservative Yeshiva (2014-2015) and a current Rabbinical student at the Jewish Theological Seminary (Class of 2020). You can view more divrei Torah at www.samblustin.com or contact Sam directly at samblustin@gmail.com.

Lashon Hakodesh (The Holy Tongue) and Magen Avraham – Parshat Lech Lecha

Torah From the Holy Land

Torah: Lashon Hakodesh (the Holy Tongue)

יג וַיָּבֹא֙ הַפָּלִ֔יט וַיַּגֵּ֖ד לְאַבְרָ֣ם הָֽעִבְרִ֑י וְהוּא֩ שֹׁכֵ֨ן בְּאֵֽלֹנֵ֜י מַמְרֵ֣א הָֽאֱמֹרִ֗י אֲחִ֤י אֶשְׁכֹּל֙ וַֽאֲחִ֣י עָנֵ֔ר וְהֵ֖ם בַּֽעֲלֵ֥י בְרִֽית־אַבְרָֽם

Then there came the fugitive and told Abram, the Ivri, who dwelt in the plains of Mamre… (Bereshit 14:13)

At this point in our story, Abram’s nephew, Lot, has just been kidnapped, along with Lot’s family and possessions, by the Four Kings. A survivor of the attack runs to Abram to alert him to Lot’s status, and Abram immediately mounts an army and rescues Lot. What’s of interest here is the description used for Abram, Ivri. Radak comments that name means he was a descendant of Eber, who spoke Ivrit, Hebrew. Abram’s descendants are called Ivrim because they are the only ones who spoke Hebrew, the rest of Eber’s descendants speaking Aramaic.

The language of Hebrew has been vitally important to the Jewish people, and remains so today. Not only is it the language that connects us to our religious texts, but it’s a language that remains alive and vibrant, living in the streets of Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. Eliezer Ben Yehuda, the founder of modern Hebrew, knew this truth when he wrote in the late 1800s: “If we see today’s youth leaving their ancient tongue it is because they consider it dead and worthless. All our labor to try and make them see its value will be for naught- for only a ‘Hebrew’ can feel for his tongue. Let us, therefore, revive the language and plant it in the mouths of our youths and they will never betray it – but we shall not be able to revive the Hebrew language except in the land where the Hebrews form a majority of the inhabitants.” While Ben Yehuda’s prophecy rings true with regard to creating the new Hebrew, I also believe it is the key to creating the new Jew. Without knowledge of Hebrew, a Jew remains an outsider in his/her own religion. They are forced to interact with text through the interpretation of someone else’s translation, never learning how to challenge the text, or dig into the multiple interpretations of a text. Most of Jewish commentary lays beyond the reach of the non-Hebrew reader, inaccessible. And most problematic of all, much of the Hebrew taught in our schools is uninspiring to today’s youth, who consider it “dead and worthless”. Let us resolve to cultivate the mindset of Avram ha-Ivri in our communities, restoring Hebrew as an integral and necessary part of both youth and adult education. Let us speak Hebrew in our homes and in our shuls. And let us interact with our tradition as full Hebrews, fluent in the language of our past and our future.

Tefillah: The Shield of Avraham

After Abram defeats the Four Kings and redeems Lot and his family from captivity, Abram returns to a celebration thrown by the 5 Kings who were attacked. Despite his military might, Abram is worried. Rashi says that he fears punishment for the lives he took in battle against the Kings, for his victory was a miracle, and he would perhaps be punished by way of retribution or revenge. HaShem comes to Abram in a vision, saying “fear not, Abram, I am a shield for you (magen lecha), and your reward will be very great” (Bereshit 15:1). This language is picked up in the chatima, the conclusion, of the first bracha of the Amidah: “Baruch Ata HaShem, Magen Avraham”, Blessed are You the Name, shield of Abraham. It recalls, three times a day, a time when Avraham, who is known for the trait of chesed, lovingkindess, is forced to go out of his comfort zone, venturing into g’vurah, strength. It’s precisely in that moment, when he is vulnerable and inexperienced, that HaShem appears to him and gives him strength and protection, a piece of mind allowing Abraham to continue on his journey in confidence. While we’re praying, we might use this bracha to pause momentarily and consider how we can step out of our comfort zones, and ask haShem for strength and protection in those moments of discomfort. May we continue to challenge ourselves so that we may reach our goals, whatever they may be.

View the PDF form of this d’var Torah here.

Parshat Tetzaveh – Words Matter | R’tzei and the Language of Sacrifice

Torah: Words Matter

Parshat Tetzaveh reads more like a fashion magazine or manual than a typical Torah story. It specifies in exacting detail how each garment that the Kohanim, the Priests, are to wear when attending to their duties in the Mishkan. These garments are not just to look good; if a mistake is made, they can cause any service to become invalid, or worse, can signal life or death. The garments themselves affect a change in the wearer, as it says that Aaron’s garments “sanctify him to minister to Me” (Exodus 28:3). Further, Aaron must wear a robe with bells on them, and that “it must be on Aaron in order to minister. Its sound shall be heard when he enters the Sanctuary before Hashem and when he leaves, so that he not die” (Exodus 28:35). In the case of the Kohanim, the clothes make the man, or at least, the service of Hashem.

Like clothing, words can also be used to dress up a concept. They can make something holy or be used to denigrate another human being. As we know, Judaism places a huge emphasis on the power of words. In the beginning, the Creator created the world with speech, and Balaam, when trying to curse the Israelites, ends up blessing them instead, saying “Mah tovu ohalecha Ya’akov, mishkenotecha Yisrael”, “How beautiful are your tents Jacob, your dwelling places Israel.”

And like clothing, words can also be an integral part of one’s identity. Jewish American, American Jew, Jewish Israeli, Palestinian Arab Israeli, and Israeli Arab are all labels that we take for ourselves, or place upon others. Beneath these labels are extensive narratives, told for generations and shaped by the borders that we impose or that imposed upon us in the present. And inside of these communities, words have worlds of meaning. They can define who is in or out of a group, who is too heretical for or perfectly in line with a group’s views.

Last week, I attended an event hosted by the T’ruah Rabbinic Fellows in Israel on the topic of how to take action on our values. The two activists we spoke with, Sahar Vardi and Gili Re’i, both talked about the power of words in their own activism. “Use language that speaks to the other,” Gili said. If the language you are using is a deal breaker for the other person and would immediately stall the conversation, then you have to use language that will invite them into the conversation. As one example, instead of using the language of “occupation”, she takes care to say “the Israeli regime in the territories of Judea and Samaria”, a burdensome phrase, but one in which she’s found people on the right respond more positively to.

In a world today in which it is becoming increasingly hard for people to talk together, it’s important to use language which talks to the other. If we continue to talk past each other, shouting down each other, then we run the risk of further polarizing our society and pushing people further away. This week, may the Holy Blessing One bless us with the wisdom to recognize the narrative of those around us, and may we have the words to speak to the souls of others and the courage to open our hearts to hold the narratives of others along with our own. Amen.

T’fillah: R’tzei and the Language of Sacrifice

R’tzei Adonai Eloheinu b’amcha Yisrael u’vitfilatam, v’hashev et haavodah lidvir beitecha.

Find favor, Lord our God, in your people Israel and their prayer. Restore the service to Your most holy House. (Amidah)

With this parasha focusing on the Kohanim, I want to focus on the blessing that the Kohanim recite during the repetition of the Amidah. While I’ll address the actual text in a later d’var, what interests me here is its placement in our service. The Priestly Blessing comes in the part of the Amidah titled Avodah, Temple Service, where we petition for God to restore the Temple and bring back sacrificial worship. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, in the Koren siddur, comments “The last three blessings (starting at R’tzei), called by the sages “Thanksgiving,” are linked because they were said by the priests in the Temple (Tamid 5:1).” This is just one example where the Temple takes primary focus in our prayer. In a time where the Temple service seems so foreign to us, how can the language of sacrifice speak to us today?

First of all, seeing prayer as a replacement for sacrifice changes the direction and purpose that we often associate with prayer. Instead of asking for things from God, we are now offering something of ourselves to the Divine. Prayer then creates a space for praise, thanksgiving, and forgiveness, paralleling the different types of sacrifices offered in the Temple. In addition, it instills in us a sense of commandedness and obligation. Three times a day we stop our normal flow to connect to a higher purpose, no matter how we may be feeling at the moment.

How do you approach prayer? How might a model of sacrifice change that approach?

To view this Torah as PDF, click here.

On Rebuke and Cleaving to haShem, and Psalm 95 – Parashat Vayera

Vayera: On rebuke and cleaving to haShem

Torah From The Holy Land by Rabbinical Student Sam Blustin

As haShem prepares to destroy the sinful people of Sodom and Gomorrah, the Torah records a curious statement in God’s name: “Now the Lord had said, ‘Shall I hide from Abraham what I am about to do [with Sodom], since Abraham is to become a great and populous nation and all the nations of the earth are to bless themselves by him?” (Bereshit 18:17). This passage prompts many questions, such as why would haShem care at all about Abraham’s opinion in this case? However, the more interesting question I believe, is why does haShem hesitate at all in asking Abraham’s opinion? If this is a test of Abraham’s piety, then haShem should have asked him outright! I believe the answer to be that haShem was afraid that Abraham would fail, like Noah in not standing up for the people of the earth before the flood, and haShem’s whole monotheistic project would be over.

The Kedushat Levi teaches on parashat Noah that “there are two types of righteous people, both of whom serve the Lord. The first category does so with enthusiasm and profound devotion, but does so as an individual only, not endeavoring to draw other people, admitted sinners, nearer to their Creator.

There is a second category of tzaddik, righteous person, who not only serves the Lord himself, but who also is instrumental in leading sinners back to their Creator. Avraham was a prime example of the latter type of tzaddik. He was busy converting pagans to monotheism.

According to the Ari z”l, Noach was even punished for not ‎rebuking the pagans in his time…”

The Kedushat Levi continues, “Being “good” to one’s peers ‎involves more than being helpful and charitable; it includes ‎admonishing one’s neighbour when one observes him violating ‎G’d’s commandments.”

Being a student consumed by schoolwork, and now removed from my community studying in Israel, I too often feel like while I benefit from my Torah study, I have not made an real difference in the world around me. If I am even a fraction of a tzaddik, I’m much more like Noah than Avraham, spending my hours consumed in Torah with little attention paid to the life around me.

After the recent election, I am all the more convinced that I can no longer sit sequestered in the Beit Midrash (hall of study), but I must get out into the world and stand up for the ideals of love and justice that I hold to be so holy. I must stand up with those whose rights are being trampled on, and who have not been granted the privileges that I have. This is the holy task which Avraham models for us; it is not enough to endeavor to be close to haShem, but we must also stand up to rebuke those who sow the seeds of hatred and division, and help to bring them closer to that loving essence of the Creator. This is the test haShem hesitantly gives Avraham, and the test that we must rise up and pass now as well.

Tefillah: “They are a people whose hearts go astray”

For some time now, I’ve been bothered by the ending of Psalm 95, which is the first psalm we say every Friday night during Kabbalat Shabbat.

Arbaim shanah akut b’dor, vaomar am toei levav hem, v’hem lo yadu d’rachai. Asher nishbati v’api, im yevo’un El menuchati.

For forty years I strove with that generation. I said, “They are a people who hearts go astray, who have not understood My ways.” So I swore in My anger, “They shall not enter My place of rest.”

What kind of way is this to start out Shabbat? Why do we need to be reminded now of the fact that we can be a little stubborn? I couldn’t figure it out, until I was davening Kabbalat Shabbat a few months ago, and it suddenly came to me. I realized that far from a throw away verse, this was actually the most important key to observing Shabbat.

For forty years, the people stubbornly held onto their ways, closing off their hearts to haShem, and thereby others as well. They lusted after other gods and peoples, created the Golden Calf, and complained incessantly, causing them to stray from the truly important things in life, which are a life dedicated to love and the revelation of haShem in the world through our acts of chesed, lovingkindess. As a punishment, haShem vows that they will not enter the resting place of God. As we know, one of the important mitzvot of Shabbat is menucha, rest (look at the Shabbat song Menucha v’simcha, rest and joy). But without opening our hearts in love, we can never achieve what is the essence of Shabbat: rest. This is why Kabbalat Shabbat begins with Psalm 95; to remind us that we will never be satisfied in the pursuit of the fulfillment of our own egos. Only by opening our hearts will we find peace and menucha, a true Shabbat Shalom.

Parshat Ki Tisa – Higher and Higher | Al Netilat Yadayim

Torah: Higher and Higher

The Lord said to Moshe, “Go, ascend from here… to the Land that I swore to Avraham, to Yitzchak, and to Ya’akov, saying, ‘I shall give it your descendants.’” (Exodus 33:1).

Rashi comments on this verse that “Eretz Yisrael is higher than all other lands. Therefore it says, ascend.” Rashi here is not referring the physical height of the land of Israel, but rather the metaphysical stature of the land. We see both in non-Jewish and Jewish sources the centrality of the Holy Land, illustrated by the map from 1581 placing the land of Israel at the center of the world and Midrashim describing the land as the center of the world as well (see Midrash Tanchuma). All of these sources demonstrate the spiritual pull that the Holy Land has had on the world, and it continues to captivate the world today.

In Zionist writings, this way of thinking continued on in the writings of the students of Nietzsche, who took up his vision of a new society created by those with superior powers and applied it to the Jewish people and the land of Israel. Some thinkers, like Micah Berdichevski, kept the view that a new people of superior might must be created, but others, like Martin Buber, sought the heroism of a morality rooted in service to God. In his essay Hebrew Humanism (1942), Buber writes,

“The Book still lies before us, and the Voice speaks forth from it as on the first day… What it does have to tell us… is that there is truth and there are lies, and that human life cannot persist or have meaning save in the decision in behalf of truth and against lies; that there is right and wrong, and that the salvation of man depends on choosing what is right and rejecting what is wrong; and that it spells the destruction of our existence to divide our life up into areas where the discrimination between truth and lies, right and wrong, hold, and others where it does not hold… The humanitas which speaks from this Book today, as it has always done, is the unity of human life under one divine direction which divides right from wrong and truth from lies as unconditionally as the words of the Creator divided light from darkness.”

Here, Buber lays the claim for the importance of the Torah, a moral Truth, which helps us to distinguish between right and wrong. This, he claims, gives purpose to the Jewish state.

“I am setting up Hebrew humanism in opposition to that Jewish nationalism which regards Israel as a nation like unto other nations and recognizes no task for Israel save that of preserving and asserting itself… If it [the Zionist movement] decides in favor of national egoism, it too will suffer the fate which will soon befall all shallow nationalism, i.e., nationalism which does not set the nation a true supernational task. If it decides in favor of Hebrew humanism, it will be strong and effective long after shallow nationalism has lost all meaning and justification, for it will have something to say and to bring to mankind.”

This debate of nationalism vs humanism can still be found today. Those in the nationalist camp say, “Look at who surrounds us! Do you think so and so Muslim person would have nearly as many rights or nearly as much equality in any of our neighboring states?” While this is enticing, it’s too easy to become complacent. Hebrew humanism, on the other hand, gives the nation a purpose that is authentic to itself. A state that is authentic to its Jewish identity does not ask “How am I compared to others?” It does not concern itself with how others feel about it. It is only concerned with living up to its own Jewish ideals and aspirations. It asks “Am I being the most fair, just society that I can be? Am I responding to a true threat to my security or am I acting out of a fear that is largely unjustified?” Only the latter state will inspire generations of Jews and non-Jews alike. Only the latter will live up to its Jewish potential, and as Buber says, “have something to say and to bring to mankind.”

The verse above commands us to ascend. Not only to physically ascend to the Holy Land, but once there, to continue to strive higher and higher to create our moral society. May the Holy Blessing One bless us with leaders for a vision of how Israel can be, and the strength to continually reach higher and higher.

T’fillah: Al Netilat Yadayim

Hashem spoke to Moses, saying: “You shall make a copper Laver and its base of copper, for washing; place it between the Tent of Meeting and the Altar, and put water there. From it, Aaron and his sons shall wash their hands together with their feet. Whenever they come to the Tent of Meeting they shall wash with water and not die, or when they approach the Altar to serve, to raise up in smoke a fire-offering to Hashem. They shall wash their hands and feet and not die. (Exodus 30:17-21)

One of the first mitzvot we’re commanded to perform in the morning is netilat yadayim, the ritual washing of the hands. Commentators have a number of different explanations for why we do this ritual, but one reason has to do with the work of the kohanim, as seen in the pasuk above. The Rashba (1235-1310) comments (Responsa 1:191):

“Since in the morning we are like a new creation [biryah chadashah]… we must thank God Who created us for His glory, and to serve and bless His name. It is upon this that they instituted the berakhot we recite every morning. Therefore we must sanctify ourselves and wash our hands from a vessel, like the kohen in the Beit HaMikdash who washed from the basin before his service.”

According to the Rashba, we act like the kohanim, sanctifying ourselves to the Divine at the beginning of the day. This higher level of awareness of our words and actions is part of our spiritual practice. By sanctifying ourselves, we remember that we are part of something much larger, that we live to accomplish a larger goal. What higher purpose do you need to work towards today? What steps do you need to take to accomplish that goal?

The Power of Blessing and the Origin of Mincha – Parshat Chayei Sarah

Parshat Chayei Sarah – Torah from the Holy Land

The Missing Blessing

A few weeks ago, as I was walking to a Shabbos meal, a man came up to me and the people I was with. “My wife just gave birth to a new baby girl,” he said, “and my Rabbi says to ask every person I come across for a blessing for my new daughter. Would you offer a blessing for her?” he asked. Taken aback, I offered some sort of blessing that was less than inspiring, as did one of the people I was with (hers was much more inspiring). It struck me that this was the first time I had ever actually been asked for a blessing from someone, and it was someone I didn’t even know!

In the next few weeks, we will see the strife caused by a father’s blessings to his sons. In our parasha however, it’s blessing that is noticeably absent from the end of Avraham’s life. He gives his children gifts, but no blessings. Rabbi Danny Nevins, Dean of the JTS Rabbinical School, comments, “Rashi, working off a midrash in Bereshit Rabba (61:6), feels that Abraham was ‘afraid’ to bless Isaac since there might be implications for the other members of the family. Rashi says that Abraham didn’t want his future grandson Esau to receive the blessing, but the source Midrash says that Abraham was stymied by the challenge of his other children. If I bless Isaac, then what about Ishmael and the children of Keturah? Instead, Abraham gives Isaac material gifts, including the burial plot in Hebron, and then says, ‘I have done my part; if the Holy One wants to act in His world, let Him do so.’ Rashi rephrases this as, ‘let the master of blessings come and bless whoever it fits Him to bless.’” The challenge posed by blessings is great: one the one hand, it can lead to strife and jealousy, and on the other hand it can spread love and kindness to the world. Where is the balance between the silence of Avraham and the inequality of Isaac’s blessings to Jacob and Esau?

Blessings are an opportunity to connect to a person’s core. They say, “I care about you, and I want the best for you.” But for a blessing to uplift the other, it needs to come from that place of love. Not a selfish love, where the blessing is actually in some way beneficial to you as well, but a love that says “May you be blessed to fulfill the purpose for which you were put on this earth.” It may have been this reason Avraham couldn’t bless his own children. He knew that the destiny of one was to rule over the other, and so he left it in the hands of the Holy Blessing One. While he respected the Ultimate blessing, he preferred that his last words would bring his sons together in unity as opposed to divisiveness. This week, may we be blessed with the energy to renew our commitment to our ultimate purpose, and may our way be illuminated with the light of those came before us.

Origins of the Mincha Service

“Isaac went out to commune with God in the field towards evening, and he raised his eyes and saw, and behold! Camels were coming.” (Bereshit 24:63)

Where does the afternoon mincha service come from? Was it ordained by the Rabbis, after the destruction of the Temple rendered the afternoon sacrifice obsolete, or are its origins much older? Many early sources argue this very question, but it’s from this verse that the Talmud (Berachot 26b) and Midrash derive that our obligation for afternoon prayer stems from Isaac himself! While I won’t endeavor to solve that disagreement here, there’s an important question that remains. If the mincha service does indeed stem here from Isaac, what can we learn about the essence and spiritual energy of the service?

The verb translated above as “To commune with God” is lasuach. Lasuach is a complicated word, but could mean to commune, to meditate, to supplicate (as translated in ArtScroll), speak, or complain. In the BDB Bible dictionary, they claim it could mean l’hithalech, to walk or stroll, but the implication, from the use of the word in the context of Noah, is that here Isaac “walked with God”. In contrast to the morning and evening services where the are many prayers surrounding the Amidah (where we commune directly with God), the mincha service is our only daily service in which the Amidah pretty much stands alone. While there are practical time circumstances for this shortened service, the spiritual consequence is important. We come immediately from the outside world of all our cares and worries and walk immediately into the presence of the Divine. The focus of the service, as supported by the biblical passage, is clear; we are there to commune with the Divine. For a few minutes, in the hustle and bustle of our day, we stop to give ourselves perspective and remind ourselves that there is more to life than just the moment we are in. We are a part of something much larger.

You can view the PDF of this Torah here.

Parshat Vayakhel-Pekudei – Two Realms of Community Building | Power of a Minyan

Torah: The Two Realms of Community Building

Last week, I participated in a trip with Perspectives, an organization seeking to give students varied mainstream Jewish-Israeli perspectives on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. We toured the security fence between Israel and the West Bank with Danny Tirza, the designer and architect of the wall. We spoke to a woman who was evacuated from Gaza when Israel disengaged from there in 2005. We spoke to a woman who lives in the closest Israeli settlement to Gaza and walked between the two walls separating Northern Gaza and Israel. We talked with residents of Sderot, a town often in the news as a target for terrorist missiles from Gaza. We spoke with settlers in the West Bank and leftist Israeli activists about their relations with Palestinians. What became clear to me was that while the security barriers were most certainly effective for short term security and have saved many Israeli lives, the long term effect of the physical separation of peoples may make peace nearly impossible.

At the beginning of this week’s double parsha, Moshe gathers (va’yakhel) the Israelites to tell them the laws of Shabbat. The word va’yakhel has the root K-H-L, which is shared with other words such as kehilla and kahal, two different words for community. In Judaism, community is of utmost importance, and is the driving force behind many of our rituals. We can pray on our own, but the Rabbis place much greater emphasis on communal prayer, and indeed there are certain parts of our prayer we can only recite in a minyan of 10.

As Rabbi Jonathan Sacks points out in this parasha, Moses

“directs their attention to the two great centres of community in Judaism, one in space, the other in time. The one in time is Shabbat. The one in space was the Mishkan, the Tabernacle, that led eventually to the Temple and later to the synagogue. These are where kehillah lives most powerfully: on Shabbat when we lay aside our private devices and desires and come together as a community, and the synagogue, where community has its home.”

There are two realms in which community is built: in space and time. If we adapt this model to the conflict, and really all conflicts, it gives some cause for hope.

In Israel, the realm of space is incredibly tricky. In spaces where Jews and Arabs do share space, it is often in a hierarchical role, with Arabs servings as construction works or maintenance workers in Jewish companies. And the physical barrier separates many Israelis from Palestinians, making relations difficult to sometimes impossible. In our interactions on the trip, the lack of knowledge of the other was clear, but so was the desire to meet their neighbors across the fence. Therefore, space needs to be created in a way that both Israelis and Palestinians, normal people, not politicians, can meet on equal footing and develop relationships with each other.

In the realm of time, Shabbat can serve as our guide. The media portrayal of the other in both Israeli and Palestinian society is often biased and skewed. Only by putting down our media devices and meeting the other face to face will true, deep relationships develop. Israelis and Palestinians must carve out a time in their weeks to be fully present and to hear the narratives of the other, no matter how painful or challenging.

The parasha provides the roadmap; we must be willing to take the first steps, no matter how much fear or apprehension we may have. May the Holy Blessing One bless us all with the courage to challenge ourselves in the coming week to listen and engage with a narrative that is different from our own, and may we succeed in creating holy communities, wherever we may be, that transcend time and place.

T’fillah: The Power of a Minyan

When I’m praying alone, I can get pretty high. I can go at my own pace, dwell on certain lines, meditate, go faster in certain areas, use the melodies I like best. But there’s an issue.

If I’m davening alone, I only have one voice. But if I’m davening with two, then I have the sweetest sound in the universe, harmony, and together we can get even higher. Three, four, five others harmonizing, that’s the highest, we can really transform ourselves.

The Rebbe Rashab taught the following about harmony. In the beginning, as Kabbalah says, God was an infinite pinprick, containing infinite potential in its singularity. But this energy exploded, expanding into infinite possibility. No longer was there singularity. Within this infinite possibility, we have two choices, we can either let the infinite become divisive, or we can let it bring people together. In Hassidut, our souls come down into the mud of this world to get even higher, and so too, here, God does as well. Because the only thing higher than singularity is the beauty of harmony. Our work is to use this harmony to elevate God even higher, and we do that through harmonizing with other human beings. How do we know this? When we say Shema, we say God is echad, not yachid. God is not singular, but God is one. To be echad means to be one of a group, all of us, together in harmony.

So you see my friends, with harmony we can get really truly high, but we need a minyan to move beyond ourselves and change the world. We need a minyan to bring God down into this world. How do we know? Well, what can we say when we have a minyan? Kaddish. And the kaddish is not in lashon hakodesh, the holy tongue (Hebrew), it’s in Aramaic. When we have a minyan, we can bring God into even mundane language, into the chol, into the non-holy.

But why davka ten? One reason that’s brought down is because of Numbers 14:27. There were twelve spies that went into the land. Two came back with favorable reports, and ten came back with negative reports and convinced the people not to enter the land. As the Lubavitcher Rebbe brought down, these spies were afraid of an absence of God in the land. They mamesh couldn’t see God in the world. They didn’t think God could be present while working the land, setting up governments, creating families, and in all of the hard work of establishing a society. So by davening in a minyan, we recall these spies and say, “God, you’re here in this world. I see you. And I want to sanctify you by sanctifying others.”

Let’s Talk About Israel – Parshat Toldot

Torah: Let’s Talk About Israel

A few weeks ago, we toured Masada, the impressive Herodian fortress made famous as the last stand of the Jews in the Jewish-Roman War. At this site, we discussed three different narratives of Masada: the narrative of the rebels as told by Josephus, the story the archeology tells, and the story of how Masada became a symbol for the modern State of Israel. This later story, which served as a rallying cry for early Zionism (“Shenit M’zadah lo tipol” – The second Masada shall not fall, using Masada as a metaphor for Israel), has begun to go out of fashion as Israel has settled into statehood. This vision of Israel hanging on by a thread, however, is still very prevalent in American Jewish circles. The idea that due to Israel’s fragility we cannot criticize it or hope for a better future for all inhabitants of the land has created a relationship with Israel for many young Jews that is impossible to sustain. To truly have a deep relationship, we must be able to sit down and talk with each other when there are problems.

Rav Naftali Zvi Yehudah Berlin (1816-1893), also known as the Netziv, comments on the difference in the relationship of Isaac and Rebecca from the rest of our ancestors. Rebecca’s “relationship with Isaac was not the same as that between Sarah and Abraham or Rachel and Jacob. When they had a problem they were not afraid to speak about it. Not so with Rebecca” (Commentary to Gen. 24: 65). This lack of communication had dire results for the family. Isaac was incensed at Jacob’s betrayal. Esau resolved to kill Jacob after his father’s death. Rebecca, in fear, had to send her favorite child away for dozens of years. The family was torn apart in a way that would never be repaired.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks comments that “such is us the human price we pay for a failure to communicate. The Torah is exceptionally candid about such matters, which is what makes it so powerful a guide to life: real life, among real people with real problems. Communication matters. In the beginning God created the natural world with words: ‘And God said: Let there be.’ We create the social world with words. The Targum translated the phrase in Genesis 2, ‘And man became a living soul’ as ‘and man became a speaking soul.’ For us, speech is life. Life is relationship. And human relationships only exist because we can speak. We can tell other people our hopes, our fears, our feelings and thoughts.” (Rabbi Jonathan Sacks)

The same is true when it comes to our relationship with Israel. In order for the Israeli project to be sustainable for generations, we must learn how to express our hopes and our fears. We must have a conversation about the values with which we approach our relationship to Israel, and we each must put forth a vision for the society that we wish the Jewish State to be. And no matter where we may be, we must work to make that vision a reality. But it only begins when we can have a candid conversation with each other, listening, pushing, and critiquing, out of a deep love and desire for our State to be the best it can be. The warning in our texts is clear: If we are afraid to speak about our problems, the consequences could be far worse.

T’fillah: And the Blessing One Spoke (Baruch She’amar)

As we saw above, communication, or rather lack of communication, plays a central role in this week’s parasha. It’s the words that we speak, or choose not to, that can have immense power, and we see this in the Beginning. The entire universe was created with “And God spoke: Let there be…”. All that is in this world, all the stuff that life is made up of, was created from these initial words. Baruch She’amar v’haya haolam, Blessing be the one who spoke and the world was. Every morning we begin the P’sukei D’zimra service with this awesome statement. Harkening back to those original words, it’s an important reminder that the words we’re about to offer in praise, in prayer and throughout the day, can both be blessings and curses. Each word that comes from our mouths has the potential to create and destroy worlds. When you come to this prayer in the morning t’fillot, consider using it as a natural stop and focus on your voice. Be cognisant of how it feels as the vocal chords vibrate, creating voice. And let the power give us pause, each word emanating intentionally from our mouth.

You can view a PDF of this d’var here.

Parshat Vayikra – Humbling the Self Before the Other | Four Types of Sacrifices

Torah: Humbling the Self Before the Other

It’s no secret that this world is becoming more and more polarized. I’ve experienced this in many settings, but perhaps the most difficult is in discourse surrounding the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. In many of my group interactions both internally and with guests this year in Israel, it’s become clear to me that we no longer know how to have conversations with each other. We’ve forgotten how to afford the other a basic level of respect. There is no baseline assumption that their statements are not intended to cause us harm, but come from a genuine place, even when they may be antithetical to our very existence and values. While there are many strategies for healthy communication, I want to suggest one such strategy from our parasha.

Parshat Vayikra explains, in what at times is excruciating detail, the specifics of the different sacrifices that can be brought to the Mishkan. In one such instruction, it says “Any meal-offering that you offer to Hashem shall not be prepared leavened (chametz)…” (Leviticus 2:11). The Torah here is prohibiting leavened bread from being brought as a sacrifice, instead instructing the Israelites to bring matzah for their meal-offerings. All this talk of matzah and chametz leads us to a big question: What do chametz, matzah, sacrifices, and Passover have in common?

Rabbi Binny Freedman points out that many commentaries compare chametz to the evil inclination. For example, the Rambam compares the rising of dough to the swelling of ego and sexual desires. In the Talmud, Rabbi Alexandri ended his daily prayers with: “Master of the Universe, it is revealed and known before You that our will is to perform Your will, and what prevents us? On the one hand, the yeast in the dough, the evil inclination that is within every person” (Berachot 17a). Rabbi Freedman teaches that every Passover, we gather up all the chametz and destroy it. This does not only have to be a physical process, but can be accompanied by a spiritual seeking out of those forces and attitudes within us that are holding us back and that distance us from the Divine. So what does this have to do with sacrifices?

The bringing of sacrifices (korbanot) is an human act in an attempt l’karev, to come closer, to the Divine. Some sacrifices (see T’fillah section) are brought to atone for sins, while others are brought out of gratitude and praise for Hashem. All of them evoke awe in the one sacrificing, a humbling before the Creator. They would take of their own time and resources (which was even more time consuming after the Temple was built) to find Divine favor.

Imagine now a conversation where, instead of blindly trudging down the path of righteousness, we stopped ourselves in humility to realize that we may not be 100% correct. That there may be a kernel of Truth in what the other person has to say. That even if we wholly disagree, the person before me is made in the image of the Divine, and there’s a basic a level of respect and benefit of the doubt that we should afford them. How different might that look?

May it be your will, Holy Blessing One, that we are able to open our hearts to others and to ourselves, to be challenged and to challenge, with a loving spirit and an open hand.

T’fillah: Four Types of Sacrifice

Previously, I have taught about sacrifice as a Rabbinic model for prayer. Today, I want to go even deeper, by exploring the different types of sacrifices as models for different types of prayers. There are four different types of offerings presented in our parasha: (1) Burnt-offerings, (2) Meal-offerings, (3) Peace-offerings, and (4) Sin-offerings. ArtScroll says the following about each one:

“A burnt-offering may be brought by one who has intentionally committed a sin for which the Torah does not prescribe a punishment, one who failed to perform a positive commandment, one who had sinful thoughts, and by everyone who comes to Jerusalem for the Three Pilgrimage Festivals. Similarly, it may be brought by anyone who wishes to raise their spiritual level.”
“A meal-offering consists of nothing more than flour, oil, and frankincense and is most likely brought by a very poor person. Because he extends himself to bring an offering despite his poverty, it is as if he had given his own soul.”
Peace-offerings are brought voluntarily by a person or a group of people who are moved to express their love of God and their gratitude of His goodness, and to enhance their closeness to Him… Alternatively… its name symbolizes the peace that results when the legitimate needs of all groups are satisfied.”
“Sin-offerings atone for deeds that were committed inadvertently, as a result of carelessness… As Rambam points out… such deeds blemish the soul; for if the sinner had regarded them with the proper gravity, the violations would not have occurred.”

Each of these cases represent different points in our lives. In the first, we intentionally act to come closer to the Divine because we’ve done something to distance ourselves from the Divine. In the second, we may not have long to pray, or might not connect to the words in a given moment, but we still show up with whatever we able to bring to that moment and that relationship. Like the half shekel for the Temple, there are no excuses; Everyone participates. In the third, we seek to come closer to the Divine from a place of gratitude and praise. The fourth is perhaps most akin to the High Holidays, where we beseech forgiveness for all the things we’ve done throughout the year, but also has hints in the daily tachanun prayer, where we also ask for forgiveness.

Which model of prayer could you use today?