Revealing the Hidden – Parshat Vayeitzei

Parshat Vayeitzei – Torah From The Holy Land

Torah and Tefillah: Revealing the Hidden

The last few weeks have been tough for Israel, as it has literally been going up in flames. Some of the fires that have been consuming the north may have been the work of terrorist activity, exacerbated by the dry weather and strong winds blowing around the country. Instead of creating a further wedge between Jewish Israelis, Arab Israelis, and Palestinians, the Arab populations of Israel have gone out of their way in support of the victims of the fire, and contributed firefighters to help put them out. Through the fire, the minority populations in Israel have revealed a face not often seen by Israelis. Israel has come out of it stronger and more unified, with a little more love to go around.

In this week’s parasha, Jacob begins his journey to Haran to find a wife. On the first night, Jacob lays down to rest, and has his famous dream with the angels ascending and descending on a ladder. Jacob wakes up and proclaims “Mah nora haMakom hazeh! YHVH bamakom hazeh v’anochi lo yadati. How awesome is this Place! YHVH is in this place and I didn’t even know it.” Tradition teaches us that haMakom is actually a name of the Divine, one of the many. What is the aspect of the Divine that is revealed through this name?

A few weeks ago, I heard a d’var Torah at the Moreshet Yisrael synagogue in Jerusalem. The speaker, Rabbi Joshua, talked about the phrase that one is supposed to say right before they leave a mourner when sitting shiva, the seven days after the burial of a loved one. The phrase, haMakom y’nachem etchem b’toch sha’ar avelei Zion vIrushalim, May the Place comfort you among the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem, is a curious one for its use of haMakom as the name of the Divine. “Why”, he asked, “is haMakom used? It’s the place itself that does the comforting,” he said quoting his wife. “The community comes around you to keep you company and take care of you.” While I’m not sure it was intended to be a theological statement, it contains an important one nonetheless. It’s through the power of community coming together that we reveal the comforting power of the Divine. When, out of Divine commitment and values, we reach out and join our lives to the lives of others, we come together in Holy unity. This is a nice drash, explanation, but I think it’s even deep than this.

The name of the Divine in our parasha, haMakom, is brought to symbolize a hidden God that in fact was there all along. It’s only when we wake up that we can realize it. Ya’akov avinu was in his own world, worried about what his brother might do him and whether he might be able to find a wife. He was living a dream life, his head in the clouds, not aware of the moment. But he was startled out of his sleep by a visit from the Divine. Finally, he realized what his father and grandfather had known all along: the Divine is in every place, we need only to open our eyes.

This is the essence of the Divine in our parasha. In the moments where it seems like we’re the furthest from the Divine, when our world is literally and metaphorically on fire, we can call on haMakom. And through the fire we realize that even here the Divine is present all along. May the Holy Blessing One bless us in the coming week with a renewed sense of the Divine Spirit, that we may reveal more love, awe, and justice in the world.

You can view a PDF of the commentary 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.

Parshat Tzav – What Does It Mean To Be Shalem? | The Eternal Offering

Torah: What Does It Mean To Be Shalem?

One of the sacrifices which the Torah expands upon in our parasha is the zevach shlamim, the peace-offering. It’s particularly interesting here, as it states that the Israelite must bring the sacrifice “with his own hands” (Vayikra 7:30). This is a more active participation in sacrifice; the worshipper actually takes part in it. But what is this peace-offering?

Rabbi David Tzvi Hoffman (19th-20th century, Germany) presents two seemingly conflicting understandings.

“Shlamim is derived from the root meaning ‘peace’ or ‘perfect’ (shalem). It signifies the state of mind of the worshipper who enjoys peace and contentment and recognizes that this has been achieved thanks to his cleaving to God. Or it may be that he seeks to attain such a state of perfection and deliverance, since at present he suffers from despair and longs for God to help him and restore his equilibrium. All this he expresses through the shlamim, seeking his own peace and well-being through cleaving to God.” (Commentary on Leviticus)

On one hand, we bring this peace-offering when we feel whole and content with our lives and want to says thanks, and on the other hand, we bring the peace-offering from a place of pain and a cry to feel unity with the Divine. That we feel both of these emotions at different times is clear, but what happens when we feel both at the same time?

Yossi Klein Halevi illustrates this tension in his bestseller “Like Dreamers: The Story of the Israeli Paratroopers Who Reunited Jerusalem and Divided a Nation.” In the book, he follows the soldiers from a particular paratrooper unit which helped reunite Jerusalem in the Six Day War, showing how the capture of Jerusalem, the West Bank, and Gaza led these fighters in remarkably different directions, some becoming settlers and others radical leftists. The title demonstrates this tension: the longing for the land of Israel and its capital to be reunited with the reluctance to rule over another people.

We see this tension in our Jewish communities at home as well. Look at the coverage of AIPAC versus IfNotNow last week. At least in the narrative that IfNotNow wanted to tell, they pitted themselves, demanding the immediate end to occupation, against AIPAC, the war mongering right wing one state supporting advocacy group who could care less about Palestinians. Despite the fact that that definition of AIPAC is completely unfair to them, my point is important. We are constantly attempting to pit ourselves against each other, painting the other as too radical, outside the bounds of allowable discourse. What we learn from this parasha is that we can actually stand in the middle of this tension; we don’t need to take one side. We can feel delighted in the wholeness of Israel and in the access to previously unavailable historical and religious sites while still taking deep issue with the occupation of a people who we have no interest in ruling over.

So who should be on the inside of our communities? The wholeness-offering teaches us that those who place the desire to come closer to the Divine at the center of their lives live within the bounds of community. On the same issues we may feel whole or broken, or both at the same time. But if we can come to the table together to discuss l’shem shamayim, for the sake of heaven, instead of shouting down and silencing those who we perceive to be at odds with us, then we can truly be echad, whole and at peace. Reb Simcha Bunim, talking about the phrase in Psalm 147,“He who heals the broken-hearted”, taught

“a broken heart is a good thing. And the healing is that he is cleansed from despair, so that the heart remains without any despair… in a state of joy…. One needs a broken heart, but one also needs it complete. One needs both together, brokenness and completeness.” (Ramatayim Zofim, chap. 5)

For Reb Bunim, the brokenness is necessary because it leads us to a process of self-analyzation, a desire to constantly improve the self. But we must also know how to rejoice in who and where we are now. The two are necessary in balance. Ideally, these traits should be balanced inside of the self, but at the very least, on issues of communal significance, these various voices must be present inside of a healthy community. By allowing both voices to balance each other, it prevents us from stagnating, which separates us from the Divine.

Therefore, may it be your will, Master of the Universe, to support us in this brokenness and wholeness, and allow us the humility to create communities who can rejoice and challenge together.

T’fillah: The Eternal Offering

Last week, we revealed the depths of four different types of sacrifices. Parshat Tzav opens up by going into detail regarding one of them: the burnt-offering. As we said, the burnt-offering was to be brought by one seeking to raise their spiritual level, whether by proactive action or to make up for a momentary lapse of recognition of the Divine in daily life. Now, we find out something deeper:

“It is the burnt-offering [that stays] on the flame, on the Altar, all night until the morning, and the fire of the Altar should be kept aflame on it… The fire on the Altar shall be kept burning on it, it shall not be extinguished; and the Kohen shall kindle wood upon it every morning; he shall prepare the burnt-offering upon it… A permanent fire shall remain aflame on the Altar; it shall not be extinguished.” (Vayikra 6:2, 5-6)

Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, in Likkutei Torah (Devarim 78d), explains “that the altar is the heart of the Jew. And corresponding to the two altars of the Sanctuary, the outer and the inner, are the outer and inner levels of the heart, its surface personality and its essential core. The altar on which the continual fire was to be set was the outer one. And for the Jew this means that the fire of his love for God must be outward, open and revealed. It is not a private possession, to be cherished subconsciously. It must show in the face he sets towards the world.”

How do we reveal our love for the Divine in the world? When do we consciously hide that fire? Unintentionally? How can become more conscious of it? What steps can we take to feel more comfortable expressing this fire?

Parshat Vayishlach – To Be Both Israel and Jacob | Elohei Avoteinu

Torah: To Be Both Israel and Jacob

“Then Elohim said to him, ‘Your name is Jacob. Your name shall not always be called Jacob, but Israel shall be your name.’” (Bereshit 35:10)

Throughout the Torah, we see multiple names used for Jacob, even after God changes his name to Israel. In the parasha, “although God was about to give Jacob the additional name of Israel,” Ramban says, “God told him that he would continue to be called Jacob.” From this point on, Jacob would be referred to by both names. So which name is used when? “From that time onward, the name Jacob would be used for matters pertaining to physical and mundane matters,” says Rabbeinu Bachya (1255 – 1340), “while the name Israel would be used for matters reflecting the spiritual role of the Patriarch and his descendants.” This distinction between names is a curious one, as we know in Chassidut that the purpose of the Jew is to bring the Divine into the mundane, everyday moments. We strive to have God-consciousness in every moment. So how can we understand the different usage of names?

The distinction is not one of reality, but of perception. Just like we saw last week, Jacob exclaims “God is in this place, and I didn’t know it!”. The Divine is always present, but Jacob was so preoccupied with the goings on in his world that he forgot to open his eyes to the world around him. He couldn’t perceive God, and these very human moments are what the Torah records. All he needed to do, however, was wake up and be in the present moment, and when he did he was able to realize that the Divine was also there with him. So too here, the moments when he is called Jacob clue us into his momentary distancing from the Divine, and the instances of the name Israel show Jacob’s connectedness to the Divine that is present in every moment.

I write this from the place named after Jacob, the State of Israel. Based on the teaching above, it’s quite odd that the secular Zionist founders of the State would name it after the spiritual side of Jacob Avinu. Perhaps it’s still a rejection of the religious aspect of Judaism, repurposing Jewish spirituality as the land itself. In any rate, it can’t be neglected that the State is named after the idea of connectedness with the Divine, even in the mundane. This is the unique project of modern Israel: How do we create a society which manifests the Divine while still remaining democratic and open to people of all religions and religious backgrounds? The key cannot be in religious coercion, but from a very real consciousness of the Divine. A recognition of the Divine in every human being, in every blade of grass, in every bite we put into our mouths. This is the essence of Israel. In the coming week, may we be blessed to see the Divine revealed in our lives, and to have a consciousness of the Divine in the world around us.

Tefillah: Elohei Avoteinu

In the Amidah prayer, one way which we refer to the Divine is through the name Elohei Avoteinu, the God of our Forefathers. By grouping all the Patriarchs together before saying them separately, it begs the question, what is the common experience of the Divine that Abraham, Isaac and Jacob shared? It’s actually a different name of God, El Shaddai, Lord Almighty, which they have in common. In the stories of all three ancestors, God appears to them as El Shaddai and reaffirms the covenant with them, promising what was promised to their father. Abraham (Bereshit 17:1) is told “Walk in my ways and be blameless. I will establish My covenant between Me and you, and I will make you exceedingly numerous.” God continues to promise a multitude of children, some of them kings, along with the land of Canaan as an inheritance. As long as the people continue to circumcise their boys, the covenant will not die with Abraham but continue for all generations. Likewise, Isaac invokes the name El Shaddai (Bereshit 28:3) in his second blessing to Jacob, where Isaac is blessing Jacob to be numerous and possess the land as promised to Abraham. Finally, in our parasha (Bereshit 35:11), God appears directly to Jacob as El Shaddai, and reaffirms the blessing gave to him by his father. In all of these cases, El Shaddai is invoked to uphold the covenant and reaffirm that the covenant will last for all generations. In our connection to the Divine as Elohei Avoteinu, we are reaffirming our commitment to this covenant and asking the Divine to remember the promise made to our ancestors, that we should become numerous and inhabit the land that was promised to us.

View a PDF of this Torah.

Seder – Our Love of the Land of Israel

“Go and learn what Lavan the Aramean wanted to do to our father Jacob”

When we tell the story of the Exodus on seder night, we don’t actually tell the story from Shemot itself, but rather from Deuteronomy, which begins with the passage “Arami oved avi.” And lest you thought historically this had some tie to sacrifice on Passover, this text actually used to be recited by those bringing first fruits to the Temple on Shavuot. Why then did the sages choose to include this text in our haggadot? Rav Soloveitchik (1903-1993, America) taught:

These verses contain an additional feature that the Haggadah saw as important to highlight, namely, Eretz Yisrael, the Land of Israel. There is an inextricable link between the Exodus and our coming to the Land. The Exodus was only the prologue or the introduction to our acquisition of the Land.

When we give thanks to God for the Exodus, we must immediately associate it, link it, with the gift of the Land, for this was the ultimate goal of our being brought out of Egypt.

When Jews would come to Jerusalem carrying their first fruits, they would stand before God in the Temple. It was a chance to thank God for the miraculous Redemption and the gift of the Land. Tonight, at the Seder, this paragraph serves the same purpose. The great emphasis may be on the Exodus story, but recognizing our Land as a precious gift is an indispensable and inseparable part of our praise on Passover. (Noraot HaRav, vol. 8, p. 63)

Rav Soloveitchik points out here something fundamental to the seder: We were not just redeemed from Egypt, but we were redeemed from Egypt for the purpose of serving God and settling in the Land of Israel. This linkage teaches us that recognizing and appreciating the gift of our homeland is a necessary and important step in our ultimate redemption, whatever that may look like. We must start from a place of love and appreciation, and the rest will follow from there.

This Pesach, may we be blessed with an open heart and a generosity of spirit, allowing us to recognize the Divine in everyone and everything.

Chag Kasher V’Sameach!

Parshat Vayeshev – Women of the Wall and Joseph’s Faith | Psalm 148

Parshat Vayeshev- Torah From The Holy Land

Torah: Women of the Wall and Joseph’s Faith

Last week, a bill was submitted to the Knesset floor by 16 members of Knesset that would heavily fine or even imprison women wearing tallit or tefillin, reading Torah, or blowing the shofar at the Western Wall. This doubling down of the Ultra-Orthodox parties comes after they killed an agreement to raise the status of the egalitarian Kotel to that of the main Kotel, which was made between Prime Minister Netanyahu, members of Knesset, the Women of the Wall, and the Reform and Masorti (Conservative) movements in Israel, in addition to an impressive coordinated response on behalf of the Women of the Wall and the liberal movements two months ago. The continued stripping of the right of women to wear religious garb at the Kotel has already done damage to the Jewish American – Israeli relationship, and this bill will only further it. To quote the words of Natan Sharansky, the chairman of the Jewish Agency for Israel, this bill, if passed, will have “grave consequences” for the relationship between Israel and Jews in the diaspora.

In this week’s parasha, we read two incredibly similar accounts of the disrobing of Joseph. Joseph’s “coat of many colors”, the first garment to be stripped, was given to him by his father. This haughty coat symbolized Joseph’s ever increasing ego. It was given out of Jacob’s great love for Joseph (over his brothers) and led to Joseph fantasizing (dreaming) about ruling over his brothers. While the dreams themselves may have been from God, the fact he feels the need to share them with his father and brothers further illustrates this building of ego. The increasing hatred of his brothers comes to a head when he is sent to check up on them. They strip Joseph of his cloak, ie. his dignity and ego, and throw him into a barren pit. Even in the lowest of lows, Joseph retains his faith in God. Shattered, he begins to rebuild his self image by placing the Divine at the center of his life, instead of his ego.

Joseph is sold down to Egypt, to Potiphar, a courtier of Pharaoh, and God blesses Joseph in everything he does. Potiphar puts him in charge of his household, and they both prosper. Repeatedly, Potiphar’s wife makes advances on Joseph, and every time he refuses. He knows what is right and wrong, and is adamant in his refusal. One day, when nobody is around, she succeeds in ripping his tunic off his body, and then accuses him of trying to sleep with her when he refuses her newest advance. Once again humiliated, he’s thrown into prison. Yet again, his faith remains solid. Even in the prison, he prospers, and when two of Pharaoh’s courtiers are thrown in jail with him, he responds to their request for him to interpret their dreams with “do not interpretations belong to God? Relate it to me, if you please” (Bereshit 40:8). Even in the darkness of the prison, Joseph gives credit to God for his interpretation abilities. Low and behold, the cupbearer remembers him after two years, and he is brought out to interpret Pharaoh’s dreams, the rest being history. Joseph’s ascension was not a linear one, but every time he was stripped naked and embarrassed, his faith remained strong, and this faith guided him in the darkest moments until he could come out and spread light.

Today, Joseph stands out as our prime teacher. No matter how many times people seek to disrobe women at the Wall (or anywhere) or liberal Jews in Israel of their Jewishness, we can look to Joseph for guidance. There are times when we let our ego get in the way, and this causes unnecessary hatred and hardship. In these moments, we need to take responsibility, and focus on recentering our own relationship and faith in the Divine. And there are times when, of no fault of our own, we are debased and thrown into the pit. Here too, our faith and religious vision must support and guide us. Like Joseph, we can and will emerge victorious, but we need to come together now. Instead of distancing ourselves from Israel, let’s proclaim our love for the Jewish state and our desire to make it a place where all Jews can come together and worship as they please.

T’fillah: The Sun, the Moon, and the Stars (Psalm 148)

Joseph’s second dream foretells of the sun, moon, and stars, representing his parents and brothers, all turning to bow down and worship him. In Psalm 148, one of the Hallelujah Psalms we say every morning, we see these same celestial symbols, this time all praising YHVH. For a moment, let’s transport ourselves to the time of the return from the Babylonian exile, which followed the destruction of the first Temple. For years, the Jews had longed to return home and rebuild their Temple, and the time had finally come thanks to an edict from the Persian emperor Cyrus to return and rebuild the Temple. Making their way back, you could almost imagine the excitement they must have felt. Everything was falling into place, and the entire world seemed to be praising God. It’s in this context in which the Psalm is believed to have been written.

It begins with the highest of the high, the celestial beings, the sun, moon, and stars, praising God. The descension of hierarchy continues to the skies, the ground, the birds and the creepy crawlies, and finally with all types of humans singing together in praise of YHVH. Throughout the Psalm, we invoke the image of God as King receiving praise from all that it created. It’s a daily reminder that all the beauty and awe-inspiring things in the world all exist to praise their maker, including us.

Based upon this drash, last year I wrote a new melody for Psalm 148 designed to invoke this regal and joyous feeling. Take a listen!

To view this d’var in PDF form, click here.

Parshat Acharei Mot-Kedoshim – What Seeds Have You Planted? | The Proper Intention

Torah: What Seeds Have You Planted?

When you shall come into the Land, and you shall plant all types of food trees, you shall regard its fruits as uncircumcised (orlah); for three years they shall be uncircumcised to you, they shall not be eaten. (Vayikra 19:23)

Two years ago, before studying at the Conservative Yeshiva, I spent a week volunteering on a vineyard in the Galilee. Working there was a transformational moment for me; I felt in some small way that I was like one of the early pioneers (albeit in much better living conditions), tilling the land and helping to make my ancestral homeland bloom. I harvested the grapes, painted the new building where the grapes were stored, and took the UTV out on the Israel trail to see the beautiful sites around me. It happened that my visit coincided with Tisha B’av, our day of commemoration for many of the worst tragedies to befall the Jewish people. That afternoon, while still fasting, I got up and went to work on the land. In that moment, I felt the contrast between Jewish helplessness and Jewish power. Here I was, on the saddest day of the Jewish year, living in the Jewish state, working the land to make it blossom!

Unbeknownst to me, I was actually fulfilling the mitzvah of planting fruit trees in the land (and also, incidentally, coming into the Land willingly). On the above verse, the Or HaChayim (1696-1743, Morocco and Jerusalem) taught,

Three mitzvot are enumerated here: 1) To come into the Land [willingly], as Chazal (the Rabbis) say, ‘Anyone can force [others] to ascend to Eretz Yisrael’ (Ketubot 110b). 2) To plant all types of food trees, in order to enhance the Land. 3) To keep the laws of Orlah.

He teaches from our verse that in Eretz Yisrael, it is a mitzvah to plant trees, and not just regular trees, but trees that bear all types of foods. Like our Creator, who in the story of creation planted trees in the Garden and commanded them to sprout fruits according to their kind, we should plant in Eretz Yisrael. Indeed, Vayikra Rabbah (25:3) brings a Midrash teaching us thus.

Yehudah ben Simon began: ‘You shall follow the Lord your God’ (Devarim 13:5). Is it possible for flesh and blood to follow the Holy One Blessed be He… Rather, this means that at the beginning of creation the Holy One Blessed be He engaged in planting first, as it says, ‘The Lord God planted a garden in Eden (Bereshit 2:8). Similarly, when you enter the Land, engage in planting first, as it says, ‘When you shall come into the Land, and you shall plant’ (Vayikra 19:23).

Not only are we commanded to plant, teaches the Midrash, but in the very act of planting we are emulating the Holy Creator. Two years ago, by beginning my year harvesting grapes, I was claiming my stake in the Land and doing my part to manifest the Divine presence in this often troubled land.

As we approach Yom Ha’Atzmaut, Israeli Independence Day, it is important to be grateful for the miracles that occurred and the sacrifices of many thousands who died in creating and sustaining this Jewish state of ours. However, we must also take an active role, planting anew and sowing the seeds for our own vision for what the Jewish state could be.

This Yom Ha’Atzmaut, ask yourself, what seeds have you planted? And may the Holy Blessing One bless us that we may taste of the sweet fruits that we have planted.

T’fillah: The Proper Intention

“When you sacrifice an offering of well-being to the LORD, sacrifice it so that it may be accepted on your behalf” (Vayikra 19:5).

Throughout the Talmud, there is a tension between being commanded to say the prayers and needing the proper kavannah, intention, while saying it. On the one hand, we’re commanded to say the prayers at their proper times. But if we didn’t have the proper intention, do we have to pray again?

One such example is found in Talmud Berakhot 16a (you can find the full text here). The sages are debating the Mishnah, which claims that laborers can recite the Shema while standing on precarious surfaces. The Gemara then asks, can it be true that they didn’t require kavannah, proper intention, to say the Shema? No, they resolve, the workers can only recite it when they are idle from their work, so that they can focus their hearts. Here, the Rabbis define proper intention as refraining from thoughts of physical work and to focus on the words of the prayers themselves.

On the above pasuk, Rashi comments: “From the very outset, you must slaughter the sacrifice with the intent that [it is for the purpose of causing] contentment [to God, as it were,] for your acceptance [by the Divine]. For if you think an invalidating thought regarding it, [says God,] the sacrifice will not gain your acceptance before Me.” According to Rashi, a person must intend that the sacrifice will actually be a sacrifice when it’s killed. You can’t accidentally kill an animal, and then decide you want to offer it. As we’ve established in previous weeks, prayer is based at least in part off of the sacrificial system. So it’s interesting to note that here, in sacrifice, proper intent is necessary for the sacrifice to be accepted; merely offering it is not sufficient.

Just like in sacrifice, prayer too requires proper intent, namely, to block out our mental to-do lists and to focus on the words of the prayer themselves. The Rabbis recognized that this is really tough though, so they restricted the amount of liturgy that we truly need to have full attention for to a minimum. However, the ideal is to be present for as much of our prayer as possible, both with the words of the text and our personal response to them. Start small. You can begin with the first words of the Shema or the first blessing of the Amida, and work your way up from there.

May the words of ours mouths and the meditations of our hearts be pleasing to you, O Lord.

Parshat Miketz – From Eretz To Exile (and Back) | Hanukkah

Parshat Miketz – Torah From The Holy Land

Torah: From Canaan to Exile (and Back)

In last week’s parasha, Joseph is an incredibly passive character. His father loves him more. God reveals a prophecy to Joseph through his dreams. His brothers hate him. His father sends him to check on his brothers, and they throw him in a pit. The list goes on until the very end of the parasha, when Joseph asks the cupbearer to remember him when he is set free, and the parasha tragically ends with the cupbearer forgetting him. Two years later, Pharoah dreams, and Joseph is brought to interpret them. Then, in a matter of lines, Joseph goes from lowly and despised to the Viceroy of Egypt.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks notes this quick change, and comments that “the story is telling us something fundamental about the relationship between our dreams and our achievements. Joseph was the great dreamer of the Torah, and his dreams for the most part came true. But not in a way he or anyone else could have anticipated… There is no achievement without effort. That is the first principle. God saved Noah from the flood, but first Noah had to build the ark. God promised Abraham the land, but first he had to buy the cave of Machpelah in which to bury Sarah. God promised the Israelites the land, but they had to fight the battles. Joseph became a leader, as he dreamed he would. But first he had to hone his practical and administrative skills, first in Potiphar’s house, then in prison. Even when God assures us that something will happen, it will not happen without our effort. A Divine promise is not a substitute for human responsibility. To the contrary, it is a call to responsibility.” Professor Ben Sommer also notes a similar phenomenon, pointing out that the entire enslavement of the Israelites is so that they would learn building skills, to later built a house for God. There’s something in every situation that we need to learn, so we can be ready for our real work manifesting the Divine in our world. This parasha is the beginning of B’nai Israel’s first experience in galut, exile, setting the stage later for the first conquest of Eretz Yisrael. Now that Jews have returned Israel, we too need to ask what was the lesson of exile that Israel is supposed to learn now?

Rabbi Isaiah Ha-Levi Horowitz (1558–1630), called the Shlah, taught: “He who dwells in the Land of Israel must always remember its name, K’na’an, which teaches servitude and subservience (hakhna’ah) to God.” And then he continues, “Thus, may it be granted you to be (that is, to think of yourselves as) strangers in your land, as David said: ‘I am a stranger in the land: hide not your commandments from me’ (Psalm 119:19). From this we learn that the settlers in that land must, as strangers, be in a state of ongoing subservience (Hebrew: yoshvei ha’aretz tzerikhin lihyot behekhneia) and not make the settling of the land into the essential element of the enterprise.” This is a powerful statement; he is claiming that there is something much more essential to Israel than only the land itself. He demonstrates this with an example, the opening words of last week’s parasha: “And Jacob settled . . . in the land of Canaan (Genesis 37:1). Jacob sought to settle in tranquility [then the turbulence of Joseph sprang upon him], for it is a land ‘that devours its settlers’ (Numbers 13:32), eliminating those who want to sit in it with quietude, relaxation, and validity, to eat of its fruit and enjoy it thus.” There is an essence to the land which causes the dweller to be in a state of exile, even while inhabiting the land.

Rabbah Tamar Elad-Applebaum comments in “Process Theology and Eretz Yisrael” that this feeling of galut, exile, is actually necessary to dwelling in the land. Eretz Yisrael is “an educational environment designated to become a spiritual training space for believers, training them to settle it while always in motion. (This can give a greater understanding regarding the role of exile in training the nation for its eventual return to Eretz Yisrael.)” Settling the land means that we must be willing to relinquish our ownership over it to the one who created it, having faith that we will be sustained and that we will be able to survive in the land. And it’s exile that has trained Jews for centuries in this art of faith. From place to place we have wandered, seemingly comfortable and prosperous one day, and fleeing with few possessions the next. According to the reasoning of Rabbi Sacks above, these lessons in galut are necessary actions, that when learned allow us to inhabit the land of our ancestors, and not, as Rabbah Tamar reminds us, be spit out. May we be blessed this week to become active participants in our own lives, and may we have the strength to reinvent ourselves so that we may deepen our relationship with the Holy Blessing One.

Hanukkah: Strangers in Our Home – R’ Sholom Brodt

“On every other holiday you don’t need a house. On Chanukah you need a house to kindle light at the door. On Chanukah when I see someone else kindling, I also say a blessing. When do I know that I’m at home with the Torah? When do I know that the light of the Torah is really my own? If I blow my mind over everyone else’s good deed and I can’t control myself, I have to say a blessing over it.

It is possible to live in the same house as your wife and children and be strangers t…o one another. On Chanukah every person in the house is kindling light; every night the light is becoming stronger and deeper and more.

Our age is the age of strangers. We’re strangers in our own homes; we’re strangers in our own land; we’re strangers in our own religion.

Let this Chanukah open the gates for all of us — the lights of Chanukah at the gates to show how holy everyone else is. Let this Chanukah give us the strength to bring light to the whole world, because people only hate each other when they have no home. So our light of Chanukah will show the whole world how deep life is — how deep it is to serve G-d.”

You can view a PDF of this week’s parasha here.

Parshat Emor – To Live In Israel

Torah: To Live In Israel

Until the morrow of the seventh week, you shall count fifty days, and you shall offer a new meal offering to the Lord. From your dwelling places, you shall bring two loaves of bread that shall be waved. (Vayikra 23:16-17)

With the reading of Parshat Emor, we’re now into the heart of the counting of the Omer, the fifty days between Passover and Shavuot. The Sefer HaChinuch (13th Century Spain, anonymous), among others, describe this liminal time as a preparation for our receiving the Torah on Shavuot. Immediately following that commandment, our parashah commands the above, to bring two loaves of leavened bread as part of the sacrifice of Shavuot. This mitzvah could only be performed in the land of Israel, and interestingly, must be made from grains harvested in Eretz Yisrael. The Zohar explains the reason: “The two loaves symbolize the Torah, and one cannot attain a full understanding of the Torah outside the Land of Israel” (Parashat Bereshit).

Throughout my time in Israel this year, I’ve come to understand the truth in this statement. Until one has spent the year living in the land of Israel, it’s hard to understand why the Rabbis would mandate dwelling in sukkot in 30 degree weather (with snow!), why we sing “hashkediyah porachat” (the almond trees are blooming) on Tu B’shvat, or why Hanukkah is on the longest day of sunlight in the year (for our friends in the southern hemisphere). Until one has spent time in Israel, the Torah does not come alive. Here, you get a real sense of the distance our ancestors walked between Hebron and Jerusalem. You can step into mikvot from the Second Temple period that pilgrims would have cleansed in before heading to the Temple to sacrifice on chagim. You can walk Derech Avot, the road our ancestors would have traveled upon. You watch how the blooming of agriculture corresponds to our chagim. You can imagine the game of hide and seek played by David and Saul in its natural habitat. And you can see the magnitude of the supporting walls of the Temple, and can imagine just how large and imposing the Temple must have been when fully intact. To live in Israel is to walk the streets our ancestors walked on, to eat from the same soil they grew food in, and to worship Hashem in the same places. To live in the land of Israel is to realize that there’s a context to the Bible, that it’s not just a series of made up stories, but that there were real people that lived here, a real Jewish claim to the land.

While my time studying here may be coming to an end, my memories of Israel will stay with me through my prayer, divrei Torah, and, God willing, by bringing many people here to grapple with our long and complex history as a Rabbi, so that they may have their own relationship to this Land, and that they too can obtain a full understanding of the Torah.

Parshat Vayechi – Embracing the Pain || Yamin u’Smol

Parshat Vayechi- Torah From The Holy Land

Torah: Embracing the Painful

In the Torah scroll, all parshiot either begin on a new line, or with a nine letter break between the last parasha and the new one, except for parshat Vayechi. This closed spacing prompts Rashi to comment below:

למה פרשה זו סתומה, לפי שכיון שנפטר יעקב אבינו נסתמו עיניהם ולבם של ישראל מצרת השעבוד שהתחילו לשעבדם

“Why is this section closed? Because, as soon as our father Jacob passed away, the eyes and the heart of Israel were “closed” from of the pain of the servitude that they (the Egyptians) began to subjugate them to.”

This phenomenon of closing ourselves off to painful stimuli, or worse yet, refusing to see the reality in front of us by closing our eyes and hearts, is all too familiar to us as humans. This phenomena is twofold: it exists both on the outside, in the pain of others, and inside, in our own pain. Pain isn’t a pleasant feeling, whether we experience it directly or see it on the faces of those around us, so we turn away from those who are hurting, or deny the fact we hurt at all, suppressing our feelings. According to Rashi, the children of Israel shut down after Jacob’s passing and in the face of a privileged class seeking to enslave them. Paraphrasing a quote of Rav James Jacobson-Maisels, when we are closed to one emotion, we close ourselves to them all. To be open, we must open ourselves to both the pleasant and unpleasant emotions. Jacob’s sons were not able to process their own pain at the loss of their beloved father, and this numbed them from sensing the pain of enslavement that was to engulf them until it was too late.

Today, in the discourse surrounding Israel, Judea, and Samaria, this phenomena seems to be all too prevalent. While the left needs to recognize Israel’s historical right to this holy land, the right must also be willing to make compromises in the pursuit of peace. The belief that while peace is desirable, it’s not possible right now, has led to a status quo that is untenable. The terror of the early 2000s and the failure of the pullout from Gaza has understandably numbed the hearts of many Israelis, and they have closed their hearts to their closest neighbors, who, like them, have valid claims to the land and in the end will be forced to make compromises as well. In order for any lasting peace to develop, both Israelis and Palestinians must commit to opening their eyes and hearts each other. They must learn to sit in their discomfort, and learn that, as my teacher Yiscah Smith says, “we are not commanded to like other people, or go out to coffee with them, but we are commanded to love each other.” That love is a deeper love, a recognition of each person as made b’tzelem elokim, in the image of God. It’s a recognition that we all have something important that only we can bring to the world. And it’s a recognition that we all have the right to have our basic needs fulfilled. In this space, the status quo begins to move towards a status in which there is a basic respect for the rights of others. And it’s in the small steps that this recognition is demonstrated, through a real demonstrative effort to give the other basic respect that shows that we view them as a person.

Our life practice is to learn how to open ourselves in love to that which makes us uncomfortable or afraid. Not to push it away or bury it down deep, but to welcome it in and soften our resistance to those feelings. Avot de Rabbi Natan comments, “Who is a hero of heroes? One who conquers his evil inclination” but then goes on to say “and there are those who say: One who makes his enemy into his beloved” (23:10). May we be blessed in the coming week with the breaking open of our heart, so that love may pour forth, and with the courage and vision that we may be able to transform our enemies, both internal and external, into our beloved, that they may spread more love into the world.

T’fillah: Yamin u’smol – Left and Right You Shall Spread Out

At the end of our parasha, Yisrael turns to Joseph’s two sons to bless them in Joseph’s place. At this point in the Torah, it should be no surprise that he puts his right hand on Ephraim, the younger, and his left on Menasseh, the older, saying the younger will become greater and more famous than his older brother.

The imagery of yamin u’smol, right and left, is also found in the 8th stanza of Lecha Dodi, which is said on Friday night in Kabbalat Shabbat. Below, I’d like to suggest a new interpretation of the stanza.

Yamin u’smol tifrotzi – Right and left you shall break out – When we live in a place of fear and despair, such as the desolate city described in previous stanzas, we close ourselves off to the world, and in turn, close ourselves off to ourselves as well. We deny reality and create a reality that is more pleasant and comfortable. It’s when we burst out of our bubble, opening up to finally accept those surrounding us, that we can accept ourselves as well for who we really are.

V’et Adonai ta’aritzi – And to the Lord you will be in awe – When we break out of our self-centered reality, we are able to recognize the Divinity present all around us, in everyone and everything. This recognition leads us to a feeling of the awesomeness of our creation.

Al yad ish ben partzi – Through the descendant of Peretz – Read partzi not as Peretz, but as “one who breaks out from the ‘I’” (from the root prtz, break out, as seen above). In Rabbinic teaching, the redeemer will come from the lineage of Peretz. In this reading, the redeemer will come from one who has broken out of the self-centered mindset of “I”, who has sown the seeds of love by revealing the Divinity present in the world. This person, which could be any of us, may not see the redemption themself, but their descendents will merit it.

V’nism’cha v’nagila – We will rejoice and we will be glad – Only after all of this, after we open our hearts to the world around us and the seed has been sown, will we merit the joyfulness that will create a new world, a world of Shabbos, where we can sit back and say the world is tov me’od, very good.

On Friday nights, we bless our sons to be like Ephraim and Menasseh, the blessing of the right and the blessing of the left. And we recall Yisrael’s blessing to them, that they “may proliferate abundantly like fish within the land” (Bereshit 48:16). May we be blessed through the holiness of Shabbos to break out of our servitude to the ego and embrace the world around us, and let love spread right and left, multiplying like fish within the land.

View a PDF of this d’var here.