Parshat Bo – The Power of Liminality | Tefillin

Torah: The Power of Liminality at Camp

This d’var was written for the weekly Ramah Wisconsin mailing. It has been changed slightly.

The summer after I graduated college, I staffed a USY Poland-Israel Israel trip for high school aged students. The experience had a profound impact on me, but more than that, it had a profound Jewish impact on the teens who went on the trip. In fact, research says that there are three main experiences which, more than any other metric, predict future involvement in Jewish life: Jewish day schools, youth trips to Israel, and you guessed it, Jewish summer camps. Particularly focusing on the later two, I asked myself, what do these experiences have in common? The answer is Jewish immersion. In these environments, Judaism is infused into every aspect of the experience. At camp, chanichim learn how to live meaningful halachic Jewish lives while living with all that modern life has to offer. This liminal space allows young Jews to step out of the pressures of their everyday lives and experience the breadth of what Jewish life can be.

Parshat Bo commences with a different type of liminal experience. It’s the coming of age for a people, where they transition from life under a physical master in Egypt to the Master of the Universe. In fact, the entire rest of the Torah documents this lengthy transition. Like camp, the desert provides an ideal environment for learning both faith and practice, removed from the demands of everyday life. In the desert, the people must rely solely on God for their sustenance and well being, the ultimate test of faith. In fact, the people come to rely so much on God that when it comes time to scout out the land of Israel, they bring back a negative report, afraid that the giants in the land will surely crush them. The Lubavitcher Rebbe taught, however, that the spies were not actually afraid of failing, but of victory. In the desert, they had everything provided for them. God was visible, present in every moment. But they knew in Eretz Canaan that they would have to live in the real world of empirical space. They would need to fight wars, plant crops, and build a society. And as a result, God’s intimate, miraculous presence would be diminished. The issue was that the spies didn’t know how to translate the immersive experience of God into everyday life. How do we translate these seminal liminal moments to lived reality?

After Pharaoh finally releases the Hebrews, they journey to Succoth and receive their first laws, among them to celebrate Passover yearly. “And you should tell your son on that day, saying, ‘It is because of this that Hashem acted on my behalf when I left Egypt.’ And it shall be for you a sign on your arm and a reminder between your eyes – so that Hashem’s Torah may be in your mouth – for with a strong hand Hashem removed you from Egypt” (Ex. 13:8-9). What does ‘because of this’ mean? Rashi asks. Because we must fulfill the mitzvot, we were brought out of Egypt. In these few words, we realize our entire purpose in life – to serve the Divine through the fulfillment of mitzvot.

To translate these liminal moments to lived reality, immersion must extend beyond the walls of camp, into the homes, schools and synagogues. Judaism must be lived, not only at Ramah, but by the very people children look up to most: their parents. We must place mitzvot front and center, showing our children not only in words, but also in action, that it’s ‘because of this that Hashem acted on my behalf when I left Egypt’. And in doing so, may we all merit the sweet taste of Torah in our mouth and on our lips.

T’fillah: Tefillin and Servitude

At the end of parshat Bo, it not once, but twice mentions that you should put a sign on your arm and a reminder between your eyes that Hashem took you out of Egypt. “And it shall be for you a sign on your arm and a reminder between your eyes – so that Hashem’s Torah may be in your mouth – for with a strong hand Hashem removed you from Egypt” (Ex. 13:9). It’s no coincidence that this passage, along with one a few verses later and the two passages from the Shema which allude to tefillin, is actually contained within the Tefillin themselves. In both passages in Bo, these signs are referred to in the context of God’s redemption of the people from Egypt. As was noted in the Torah commentary above, Rashi teaches on verse 8 that it’s in order to perform mitzvot that the Divine takes the Hebrews out of Egypt. Therefore, the daily wrapping of Tefillin is a reminder that God didn’t just bring us out of Egypt to be free, but to worship the Divine. And we do this by performing mitzvot, thereby revealing the Divine presence in the world. Rabbi Shmuel Hominer, a late 19th century Rabbi in Palestine, comments similarly in Sefer Olat Tamid on uk’shartem l’ot, and you will bind them as a sign, in the Shema. “A person should intend that they are a branded servant of the Kadosh Baruch Hu, and that they will not rebel or maintain the idea that they are a free person. Therefore, we put on our flesh a sign of the covenant (circumcision), like the way a master brands his servant to show he’s a servant. The second stamp we put on us is tefillin. And on Shabbat, there is no tefillin. The day itself is a sign.” What does it look like to serve a higher power? How might our moment to moment interactions change if we were constantly in service to the Divine?

View a PDF of this D’var 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 B’Shalach – Why Do You Cry To Me? Go Forth! | Vayar Yisrael et Mitzrayim

Torah: Why Do You Cry To Me? Go Forth!

Parshat B’Shalach focuses on the climax of the Israelite’s quest to worship their God: The splitting of the sea which allows them to escape from Pharaoh’s army, while drowning the pursuing soldiers. In this scene, the Israelites are encamped at Pi-hahiroth, Egypt behind them and the sea directly in front of them. Pharaoh’s heart is hardened, and he sends his army to bring the Israelites back to servitude. The people, trapped, begin to panic. “How could you bring us out of Egypt only to die here?!” Moses tries to comfort the people, saying “Do not fear! Stand fast and see the salvation of Hashem that He will perform for you today; for as you have seen Egypt today, you shall not see them ever again! Hashem shall make war for you, and you shall remain silent” (Ex. 14:13-14). There’s nothing to worry about, he says. Sit back, relax, have a little faith, and Hashem will fight this war for you. But as we see, this is the wrong response.

Insead, Hashem responds to Moses, “Why do you cry out to Me? Speak to the Children of Israel and let them journey forth!” (Ex. 14:15). Stop praying to me, God says! Go and do something about your predicament, and I’ll be there to support you and make you successful. But the question remains: How are they supposed to journey forth with the sea blocking their path?

Various midrashim and the Talmud relate a version of the well know story of Nachshon. When God gave the command to go forth, the people knew they had to do something, but who would go first? They looked around, nodding to their friends, trying to convince them to go first. Suddenly, Nachshon, the head of the tribe of Judah, wades into the water. He walks until the water is up to his knees, but nothing happens. To his waist, but nothing happens. To his neck, but nothing happens. Finally, when his head is completely submerged, and his breath about to run out, the sea splits before him, and the people cross safely on dry land.

Nachshon knew what Moshe did not. Despite the formidability of the sea, Nachshon had faith in God and knew that faith requires action. It is not enough to sit back and have faith that everything will be okay. We must go out and act in the name of justice, freedom, equality, and love, no matter what the obstacle or cost. What are you waiting for? Go forth!

T’fillah: Vayar Yisrael – Breaking Free From Our Bonds

After the Israelites cross the sea, they turn back, and to their disbelief, the waters collapse, drowning the pursuing soldiers. Vayar Yisrael et Mitzrayim met al sefat hayam (Ex. 14:30). This verse is often translated: “And the Israelites saw the Egyptians dead on the banks of the sea.” However, the Rabbis teach us not to read Mitzrayim as Egyptians, but rather Egypt. What does it mean that the Israelites saw Egypt dead on the banks of the sea?

After crossing the sea, they left their mindset of servitude behind them. The forces that had kept them chained up and oppressed, that had restricted them from becoming their true and full selves, were shed at this moment. While these forces were literal servitude, we too have forces, both self-imposed and imposed upon us by society and culture, that prevent us from becoming all that were are meant to be. What forces are at play in your life? How can you break free of these bonds to experience your own splitting of the sea?

View a PDF of this week’s Torah here.

Directing Our Eyes, Ears, and Heart to God – Parshat Ha’azinu – Torah and Tefillah

Torah – Directing Our Eyes, Ears, and Heart to God

מו וַיֹּ֤אמֶר אֲלֵהֶם֙ שִׂ֣ימוּ לְבַבְכֶ֔ם לְכָ֨ל־הַדְּבָרִ֔ים אֲשֶׁ֧ר אָֽנֹכִ֛י מֵעִ֥יד בָּכֶ֖ם הַיּ֑וֹם

46 And he said to them, “Set your hearts to all of the words which I bear witness for you this day…

After delivering the song of Ha’azinu before the people, Moshe commands them to place on their hearts the words which have just been spoken. How does one do this? Rashi says that a person must direct their eyes, ears, and heart to the words of Torah. But Torah doesn’t only come from books, it also comes from all those around us. Do we see effect our words have on others? Do we hear the innermost longing of our soul? Can we open our hearts to love ourself and others for who we really are? This new year, let us go inside and dedicate ourselves to seeing the hidden, hearing the deep, and to commit to loving acts in every moment.

Tefillah – The Song of Ha’azinu and Az Yashir

Sung at the end of the p’sukei d’zimra service, the well know song of praise Az Yashir celebrates the Israelite crossing of the sea. Rambam however, in Hilchot Tefillah, mentions that some say the Song of Ha’azinu in place of (and some even in addition to) Az Yashir. The differences theologically in the biblical selections is striking. Az Yashir is a song of praise to the Almighty from the people, an ode to triumph. The Almighty is my strength, song, salvation, and is described as a Master of War. The Almighty’s fury comes through towards the nations who wage war against the Israelites, but shows loving-kindness towards the Israelites. The Song of Ha’azinu, conversely, describes God as a Rock, Just, Faithful, True, a Father, but throughout becomes incensed at the betrayal of it’s people, jealous, angry, murderous, and vengeful. Placed in the context of P’sukei D’zimra, the Verses of Praise, we can see why today Az Yashir won out in our fixed liturgy, and the Song of Ha’azinu was relegated to the Torah reading. While the song of Ha’azinu is a powerful reminder during this season of our need to return to Hashem, it hardly evokes the feeling of praise and grandeur sought in the morning prayer.

Parshat Yitro – One Love, One Heart | Shabbat Morning Kiddush

Torah: One Love, One Heart

“In the third month from the Exodus of the Children of Israel from Egypt, on this day, they arrived at the Wilderness of Sinai. They journeyed from Rephidim and arrived at the Wilderness of of Sinai and encamped in the Wilderness; and Israel encamped there, opposite the mountain” (Ex 19:1-2).

The big moment is arriving! Three months into their journey, the Israelites finally reach the foot of Mt. Sinai, and begin their preparations to receive the Torah. In the first verse, they are referred to as the “Children of Israel”, in the plural, but in the second verse, they are referred to in the singular, only as Israel. Why is this? Rashi comments that at the foot of the mountain, the people were “as one person and with one mind”. While the rest of the time, the people complained and quarreled with each other, in this moment, they united as one people.

Based upon this, Rav Sholom Brodt teaches that total ahavat Yisrael, love of Israel, is a pre-condition for receiving the Torah. This means that to fully receive the Torah that Hashem is giving us, both then and now, we must truly love every member of Israel.

When I was studying at the Conservative Yeshiva two years ago, I had the custom of busking on Ben Yehuda on Friday mornings, and the money I would earn I would give to tzedakah. More than once, I would be approached by a woman who lived in an apartment above the street, who would proceed to yell at me for playing music and disturbing her quiet. No matter what I explained, that I was there for tzedakah, that I would only be there for a short period, nothing worked, and she would inevitably threaten to call the police, despite the fact that it’s completely legal during the day. Often, I would push back for a few minutes, and then move further down the street.

One day, we were engaged in the same song and dance, but while we were talking and I was getting my things together, a man came up asking for money. I had only been going a few minutes and had only made a few shekel, so I gave him what was in my case. The woman was astounded. “He’s an Arab! Why are you giving him money?,” She protested. “Why should I not give to him?,” I responded. “The Rabbis say that ‘Kol Yisrael aravim zeh lazeh, all Israel is responsible for one another,’ not all Jews are responsible for one another. Jew, Muslim, it doesn’t matter. He’s Israeli!” I responded. And as I continued packing up, she said “It’s okay. You can stay here.” She walked away, and I didn’t see her again that year.

While the saying originally is in reference to supporting all Jews, through my own midrash, interpretation, of the text, I was able to extend love beyond my own circle, to all of ‘the people of Israel’. I realized in that moment that the power of loving one’s neighbor can overcome even the toughest and most stubborn of people. May we be blessed in the coming week with an open heart, in order that we may all receive the sweet blessing of the Torah.

T’fillah: Shabbat Morning Kiddush – Zachor et HaShabbat l’Kadsho

“Zachor et haShabbat l’kadsho” – “Remember the Sabbath to make it Holy” (Ex. 20:8)

In his Guide for the Perplexed (Vol. II, Chapter 31), the Rambam explains that the commandment to remember the Sabbath commemorates the Sabbath of creation and the holiness that the Sabbath brings into the world. We do this through the recitation of the kiddush over a cup of wine. On Friday night, we say that kiddush is “zecher l’ma’aseh bereshit,” a reminder of what was made during creation. And if we look at creation, the Torah says that “Elohim blessed the seventh day and sanctified it…” (Bereshit 2:3). Here, our Creator directly sanctified the seventh day. However, in Shabbat morning kiddush, we recite that it is we who sanctify Shabbat by remembering it! How can it be?

Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, in his book The Sabbath, says that

“The meaning of the Sabbath is to celebrate time rather than space. Six days a week we live under the tyranny of things of space; on the Sabbath we try to become attuned to holiness in time. It is a day on which we are called upon to share in what is eternal in time, to turn from the results of creation to the mystery of creation, from the world of creation to the creation of the world.”

When the Creator created the world, it created, as Heschel claims, a majestic palace in time. However, most of the week, we inhabit a world of space and productivity, always running from one thing to another to get things done. The blessing of Shabbat is that we can step away from the treadmill and inhabit time with others, appreciating the holiness inherent in the world. This mindset, however, requires a shift in consciousness. We must consciously enter into the realm of time, and we do this by sanctifying the day ourselves, through kiddush. As we go into Shabbat, may the Holy Blessing One bless us with an awareness of the Divine in the world and with a Shabbat filled with mystery and awe.

View a PDF of this Torah here. Sign up to receive this in your inbox to the right.

The Key To Youth and the Aleinu – Parshat V’zot Ha’brachah – Torah From the Holy Land

The Key To Youth – V’zot Ha’brachah

וּמשֶׁ֗ה בֶּן־מֵאָ֧ה וְעֶשְׂרִ֛ים שָׁנָ֖ה בְּמֹת֑וֹ לֹא־כָֽהֲתָ֥ה עֵינ֖וֹ וְלֹא־נָ֥ס לֵחֹֽה: (דברים לד:ז)

Moses was a hundred and twenty years old when he died, yet his eyes were undimmed and his natural force unabated. (Deuteronomy 34:7)

My personal motto is to “find your passion, whatever it may be, and don’t lose it, even for one second. You never know whose life you could have changed during that time”. Passion drives every major change in society, and is a must have for any leader. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks asks about the above pasuk, “What then was the secret of the undiminished energy of his last years?… I used to think that “his eyes were undimmed” and “his natural force unabated” were simply two descriptions, until it dawned on me that the first was an explanation of the second. Why was his energy unabated? Because his eyes were undimmed. He never lost the vision and high ideals of his youth. He was as passionate at the end as he was at the beginning… The moral is clear: If you want to stay young, never compromise your ideals.” In the last year, what ideals have you given up on or compromised? What dreams have you abandoned? This new year, commit to renewing those old passions and embrace your inner youth.

You can read the entire drash by Rav Sacks here.

Tefillah: Aleinu – The Final Call

Just as V’zot Ha’brachah ends the cycle of the Torah, so too does Aleinu end our daily tefillot. And just as V’zot Ha’brachah caps a climatic and moving recap of the journey of the Israelites, reiterating the importance of worshiping the one and only Almighty, so too does Aleinu remind us of the majesty of the Crown. Rabbi Yoel Sirkes (1561-1640) in his book Bayit Chadash, a commentary on the Tur, explains: “The reason [for reciting Aleinu at the end of the service] is to ingrain in our hearts, before we leave for our houses, the unity of the kingdom of God. Thus, our faith will be strengthened, in order that we ‘remove the foreign gods from the land.’’ How many ‘foreign gods’ do we still have today? Power, money, success, acclaim, lust, and all the desires of the ego to dominate the other are still very strong temptations in our society. Aleinu gives us one last moment to refocus before going out into the world. It allows us to get our priorities in order, and helps us cultivate a sense of awe and wonder of the miraculousness of the world and life itself. So before you rush off to fold up your tallit, take a deep breath and focus one more moment on the grandeur of the Divine.

Parshat Mishpatim – Little By Little I Shall Drive Them Away | V’charot Imo Ha’Brit

Torah: Little By Little I Shall Drive Them Away

“I shall send the hornet-swarm before you and it will drive away the Hivvite, the Canaanite, and the Hittite before you. I shall not drive them away from you in a single year, let the Land become desolate and the wildlife of the field multiply against you. Little by little I shall drive them away from you, until you come fruitful and make the Land your heritage” (Ex 23:28-30)

Last week, we visited the Chicago Community Center in Lod, a site which, over the years, has been a source of friction between the different Jewish and Arab populations. Not too long ago, the Community Center had been given to the Orthodox population, who created a communal space exclusively for Jews, despite the majority (~70%) of the neighborhood being Arab Israelis. In this model, the Jews, the powerful minority, won, and the Arabs lost. But, as our guide D’ror explained, a win-lose scenario between two populations that must live together inevitably leads to a lose-lose situation. A few years ago, the new mayor recognized the need for the Center to serve all people in the neighborhood. For two years, the lower floor served for Jewish programming, and the upper floor served for Arab programming. Slowly, the floors started to become mixed, but today the classes remain separate. The goal, eventually, is that Jewish and Arab children will be able to share classes and activities together, maximizing the resources for all in a win-win situation. What they recognized, however, is they couldn’t jump to the last step immediately; the people weren’t there yet. Slowly, the walls can be lowered, and eventually, children (and their families) will be comfortable sharing space together.

There exists a fourth possibility, which we see in the verses brought above. This plan of incremental gains, expulsion and immediate settlement, makes sense as a strategy for taking over the land. Let the enemy continue to till the soil and maintain property, so that when you defeat them, you can settle seamlessly. While it may be smart military strategy, the mass expulsion of an indigenous people in order to live in their homes and till their soil (although some would claim that the land was really theirs from the start) for the sake of security, doesn’t sit well morally with me. While there are strategic locations where this might be justified, I find expulsion for entire tracts of land problematic, to say the least.

“In the Middle Ages, Saadia Gaon argued that a biblical passage should not be interpreted literally if that made a passage mean something contrary to the senses or reason (or, as we would say, science; Emunot ve-Deot, chapter 7)” (Conservative Judaism). Dr. Fritz Rothschild, former Professor of Jewish Philosophy at JTS, extends this to include morality in his assessment of Rabbinic textual interpretation. The practical implication of this is huge. If we don’t need to read Torah literally, we can search out a deeper meaning, even in morally problematic passages.

One such way of deriving deeper meaning is by viewing difficult parts of the Torah as analogy. In this case, the Hivvites, Canaanites, and Hittites are idol worshiping peoples, and the Biblical fear is that “they cause you to sin against Me, that you will worship their gods, for it will be a trap for you” (Ex. 23:33). The concern is that these people will cause the Israelites to distance themselves from the Divine presence.

In our world today, expulsion is not an option in most, if not all, cases. Therefore, we must learn how to live with each other side by side. As I saw in Lod, there are three main options: (1) We can seek to gain power over the other in our midst, ultimately resulting in a lose-lose, (2) we can split resources, staying separate but respectful, or (3) we can learn to share all resources, maximizing them to benefit everyone together. In my belief that the divine is manifested in the world through love and justice, moving from lose-lose to win-win is a moral imperative. While the verses may intimate expulsion, the deeper lesson is the opposite. We must learn how to live side by side with those different from us, and it’s only through this that we reveal the Divine in the world.

T’fillah: V’charot Imo Ha’Brit – Redemption of the Land

“You are the Lord God who chose Abram and brought him out of Ur of the Chaldees… and You made a covenant with him to give to his descendants the land of the Canaanites, Hittites, Amorites, Perizzites, Jebusites, and Girgashites. You fulfilled Your promise for You are righteous” (P’sukei D’zimra, ‘Ata hu Adonai l’vadecha’).

In our morning prayers, we recall God’s promise to Abraham to give the land of Israel to his descendants, mentioning two of the three peoples our parasha mentions as living in the land, the Canaanites and the Hittites. The Abudarham (~1340 in Seville) comments that these six nations are mentioned zecher l’maaseh bereshit, as a reminder of the creation of the world. In his typical style, the Abudarham brings biblical parallels and thoughts, while leaving it to the reader to find their own meaning. It seems to me, that just as the world was created in six days and Shabbat, there were six nations who lived in the land before the Israelites. Therefore, the Israelites are made parallel to Shabbat, tastes of the ultimate redemption of space and time, respectively. Placed in the beginning section of our prayers, where we offer praises to the Divine for wonders both natural (creation and nature) and supernatural (Exodus), the inference that the Israelite’s purpose is to make holy the land, and that this redemption is as natural as one day blending into the next, follows logically. While we may not have a moral right to exclusivity of the land of Israel today, our liturgy is an important reminder that our claim to the land is thousands of years deep, and that we have as much right as anyone to develop a national homeland in our ancestral homeland.

You can view a PDF of this Torah here.

Bereshit: A Primordial Light and Yotzer Or – Parshat Bereshit – Torah from the Holy Land

Torah – Bereshit: A Primordial Light

Have you ever gazed longingly at the sky on a star filled night, pondering the immensity of the universe? It’s an incredibly awe inspiring experience. Growing up, one of my favorite places to go was to the planetarium in Minneapolis, but it was shut down a number of years ago. A few months ago, I had the incredible opportunity to visit the Hayden Planetarium in New York. One thought that struck me was the brevity and smallness of human life in the universe. The light we see emitted from stars in the night sky can be light from BILLIONS of years ago, only just now reaching earth to be gazed upon. It reminded me of a Hannah Szenes quote: “There are stars whose light is visible on earth though they have long been extinct. Likewise, there are people whose brilliance continues to light the world, though they are no longer among the living. This light is particularly bright when the night is dark. They light the way for mankind.” We sit in shul today reading a text thousands of years old, that has spawned the world’s main religions and has been an inspiration for dozens of generations of Jews. And it all started with bereshit, a beginning in which light was created and separated from the darkness. It’s this light that we still feel and experience today in every interaction with our tradition. Today, as you ponder the awesomeness of the universe, ask yourself, how has my tradition been a guiding light for me? In what moments have I experienced this awesome light? And how am I going to amplify and enhance this light for the next generations?

Tefillah – Yotzer Or

In the beginning, the earth was unformed and void, with darkness over the surface of the deep. The Creator said, “Let there be light”; and there was light. The Creator saw that the light was good, and separated the darkness from the light. In the beginning, the Creator created light, and separated the existing darkness.

In our morning prayers, however, immediately after the Barchu, we say the blessing yotzer or u’vorei choshech, oseh shalom u’voreh et hakol, Blessed are you who fashioned the light and created darkness, who makes peace and creates everything. If you look carefully, the tefillot flip the verb used to describe the creation of light, stressing that everything, even darkness, comes from the Creator. The blessing of yotzer or actually comes from Isiah 45:7, which stresses this point even more: “I form light and create darkness, I make peace and create evil-I the Lord do all these things…Shame on him who argues with his Maker, you are nothing but a pot made of earth! Shall the clay say to the potter, “What are you doing? Your work has no handles?…” (Isaiah 45:7-9). It goes on to stress that we humans are nothing but, to quote Reb Simcha Bunim, “ash and dust”. And this awareness of our own limitations and mortality is vitally important. Reb Simcha Bunim would teach that a person’s intellect leads them to an awe of their Creator, and this awe leads to humility. It’s only through humility that one can encounter God, for humility leads a person to find the Truth within. In our morning prayers, we have just cultivated a sense of awe of the Creator through the Psalms. The Yotzer Or brachah then reminds us to humble ourselves, so that we can approach the Creator with our full selves in the Amidah.

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.

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 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.