A Taste of Torah - Yitro

The original top ten list comes to us this week: The Ten Commandments. (Though, I should mention that none of the commandments is more important than any of the others. But I digress.) Among them is the 9th commandment: You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor. Abravanel, the 15th century Spanish-Jewish commentator, writes that first, God warns us not to harm our neighbors with our actions. Do not murder; do not harm his body. Do not commit adultery; do not harm his family. Do not steal; do not harm his possession. After these precautions, God warns us not to harm our neighbor with our words: You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor. Literally, bearing false witness is lying under oath, but Abravanel takes it one step further and says that this includes a prohibition against mocking our neighbors, slandering them, disparaging them, or insulting him publicly. Abravanel believes, and I agree, that included among the Ten Commandments is the requirement to treat one another respectfully and avoid causing others any kind of harm, be it through our actions or through our harm.

Next Friday is Freedom to Marry Day. Between this Shabbat and next Shabbat, countless groups around the country will gather to stand in solidarity with gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender and queer neighbors who are not allowed access to civil marriage in most states in our country. Here in Minnesota, people of faith, along with many others, will gather at the Minnesota Capitol at 8:30 am on Thursday, February 11 along with Outfront Minnesota to say, “I do support love.” As long as marriage equality is not a reality across our country, we will continue to have neighbors who are mocked, slandered, disparaged, and publicly embarrassed through their being told that they are less than equal in the eyes of our state and our federal government. It is not enough to be sure that our actions do not hurt others, as Abravanel teaches us, but we must make sure that neither do our words cause harm. I encourage you to find a way this week to stand on the side of love and support marriage equality in our country.

A Taste of Torah - Beshallach

Our tradition teaches us that on Shabbat, we are supposed to have two loaves of challah at our Shabbat dinner tables. This week's Torah portion, Beshallach, provides the reasoning for this custom. After we have crossed the Sea of Reeds to freedom, the Israelites find themselves in the wilderness complaining about the lack of food, remembering that even though they had been enslaved, they always had enough to eat in Egypt.

God speaks to Moses and lets him know that each day bread in the form of manna will rain down from the sky. The Israelites should gather their share each day. On the sixth day (Friday), when the Israelites brought what they needed home, they would find that they had double what they needed (Exodus 16:5), a portion for Friday and a second portion for Shabbat. Next, Moses and Aaron tell the Israelites, "By evening you hsall know it was the Eternal who brought you out of the land of Egypt" (Exodus 16:6). Didn't they already know that it was God who had brought them out of Egypt? Apparently not. A few verses earlier, when the Israelites complain and say that they had had enough to eat in Egypt and it would have been better for them to have stayed there, they credit Moses and Aaron with having brought them into the wilderness.

The double portion of manna on Friday, which we now observe as the two loaves of challah at our Shabbat dinner tables, is meant to remind us that while Moses and Aaron helped lead us out of Egypt, it was actually God who brought us from slavery to freedom. When we sit down at our Shabbat dinner tables, or even when we eat an ordinary meal, God expects us to remember God's role in our lives. We have freedom not only because of our own actions and our own fortune, but also because of our relationship with God.

A Taste of Torah - Bo

This week, we find the conclusion of the ten plagues and the Israelites' exodus from Egypt. (Next week, we'll get to the Sea of Reeds with the Egyptian army still on our tails.) In the midst of the story, we read that along with us, an erev rav, a mixed multitude went up with us from Egypt, along with all sorts of animals (Exodus 12:38). Our commentators ask about this erev rav, this mixed multitude who left Egypt with us. Most of the commentators agree that the mixed multitude were people of other nations (some say only the Egyptians and some say they had converted to Judaism) whom God chose to free alongside us.

Me'am Lo-ez, the 18th century Ladino commentary from the Ottoman Empire, teaches that when Pharaoh agreed to let the Israelites go, he refused to allow this mixed multitude to exit with us. But the Egyptians - those who would stay behind - saw that the Israelites refused to leave without the mixed multitude. We had our freedom, though it wasn't enough if those others who needed their freedom couldn't come along with us.
In the past two weeks following the earthquake in Haiti, its aftermath, and aftershocks, the world has responded. Most notably, CBS News highlighted the Israeli Defense Forces' "field hospital, the Rolls Royce of emergency medical care."




Beginning with our exodus from Egypt, the people of Israel have understood that unless the whole world is better off, we are not better off. We may at times choose to be critical of Israel and decisions her leaders make, but we should also count the blessings that Israel has bestowed upon the world and the role that the Jewish people continue to make towards fixing the broken world in which we live.

A Taste of Torah - Va'era

The first seven of the Ten Plagues appear in this week's Torah portion, Va'era. The first plague, if you remember from the Passover Seder, is the plague of blood. According to the Torah, when Pharaoh refuses to let the Israelites leave Egypt, God instructs Moses to stand before Pharaoh and warn him that if he doesn't let the Israelites go, Moses should strike the water of the Nile with his staff and God will turn the water to blood, killing all the fish in the Nile. As if that weren't enough, all of the water in Egypt, even the water stored in people's personal vessels, would turn to blood.

Pharaoh understands that by not allowing the Israelites to go, his entire country's water supply will be ruined, the fish that live in the water (off which the Egyptians likely receive nourishment) will die, and there won't be a drinkable drop of water in all of Egypt. Still, Pharaoh refuses to let the Israelites go, allowing his country's water source to be destroyed.

When we read this, we think of Pharaoh's foolishness, yet are we much different? We know that unless we change the ways in which we eat, we will destroy the sources of our nourishment, as well. When we buy meat raised on factory farms where the goal is not how well we treat the earth and God's creatures, but rather, how much meat we produce, we pollute our food and water system. Animal waste present in runoff from factory farms pollutes local water systems. Pharaoh is warned time and time again of the dangers that lie before him for not making the right decisions. We know the dangers, and yet we choose not to do anything to avoid them. Is locally sourced, sustainably raised meat more costly? Maybe. Maybe not. Sure, the sticker price is higher, but when we pay a lower price for unethically raised food, someone else - the people living near the factory farm, whose water supply is polluted - foot the bill, at least for now. Eventually, we'll all pay the price.

A Taste of Torah - Shemot

We begin a new book of Torah this week, Shemot, or Exodus. Just eight verses into the book of Exodus, we see a major theme present itself: "A new king arose over Egypt who did not know Joseph. And he said to his people, "Look, the Israelite people are much too numerous for us. Let us deal shrewdly with them, so that they may not increase; otherwise in the event of war they may join our enemies in fighitng against us and rise from the ground'" (Exodus 1:8-9).

Pharaoh decides, in his effort to suppress the Jewish people in Egypt, that the male children born to the Israelites should be put to death. Moses' parents decide to try to save him. His mother puts him in a basket, floats him down the Nile. Miriam, his older sister, hides nearby to see what will happen to her baby brother. When she sees Pharaoh's daughter rescue Moses, she makes sure that her own mother, Moses' mother, will be the one to nurse him. With his parents' faith and his sister's watchful eye, Moses survives. But not all children who find themselves cast out from their parents' homes are so lucky. Some end up on the street of their own volition. Other's are cast out by their parents. And their are those whose parents' choices force them out. Check out this Torah commentary from Martin Rawlings-Fein and this recent article on youth homelessness in the Star Tribune.

Fortunately there are plenty of people working to end homelessness, and even youth homelessness, in particular. Each year, my teenage congregants partipate in Night on the Street, a sleep-out aimed at raising awareness about homelessness in Minnesota and to fundraise to eliminate it. Last year, roughly 400 teens participated and Temple Israel sent more teens than any other group.

A Taste of Torah - Parashat Va-y'chi - Chazak, Chazak v'Nitchazek: Renewed Resolve

This weekend is about endings and new beginnings. Last night, we ended a year, 2009, and began a new one, 2010. This Shabbat, we end the book of Genesis with its last Torah portion, Va-y’chi, and in the coming week, we’ll begin the book of Exodus, with its first portion, Shemot. This time of year calls us, at least in our secular lives, to be more aware of ourselves. Just as at Rosh Hashanah we pledged to be better people, we often resolve at this time of year to be better than we have been over the past year. Our Torah portion teaches us the same lesson.

Parashat Va-y’chi contains Jacob’s blessings for his sons (his daughter, Dinah, markedly absent from his list), but more noteworthy than his sons’ blessings is the blessing he offers his grandsons, Joseph’s boys, Ephraim and Manasseh. Toward the end of our portion, Jacob blesses his grandsons. The text tells us: So he blessed them that day, saying, “By you shall the people of Israel give their blessing, saying, ‘May God make you like Ephraim and Manasseh’” (Genesis 48:20). Rashi, the 11th century Biblical commentator, tells us that this verse means that when we bless our sons, we are to ask that God endow them with Ephraim and Manasseh’s qualities. What qualities? What is so special about them that we should hope that our sons turn out like them?

Well, the entire book of Genesis, the book we finish this week, is teeming with sibling rivalry. Here are just a few examples: Isaac and Ishmael have issues from the outset. Jacob and Esau’s hunger for their father’s blessing persists throughout their lives and interactions. Rachel and Leah compete for Jacob’s love. And Joseph clashes with his brothers right up to this week’s portion. In each generation of the Genesis narratives, siblings struggle with one another, but for Ephraim and Manasseh, things are different.

Rabbi Harold Kushner sees the “blessing in the boys’ relationship with each other. He suggests they become a source of blessing ‘perhaps because they were the first brothers in the Bible to get along peaceably, after the conflicts that marred the lives of Cain and Abel, Isaac and Ishmael, Jacob and Esau, and Joseph and his brothers.’ So it’s possible the blessing of Ephraim and Manasseh is one of peace and acceptance. When Jacob crosses his hands to bestow the greater blessing on the younger boy, neither boy complains (although their father does). They accept the blessing they are given, and given the lack of a story of brotherly strife, we assume it did not harm their relationship. May we be like Ephraim and Manasseh, at peace with our lot in life and in harmony with those we love. How powerful this ritual could become for our extended families, reminding ourselves weekly to celebrate our relationships regardless of the unexpected twists and turns they might take” (Joshua Rabin, Parashat Vayechi—For the Next Generation, USCJ Hazak Shabbat 2009).

On this Shabbat of New Year’s Day 2010, our Torah text reminds us of the words that Jewish families traditionally speak to their sons each Friday night, at the Shabbat dinner table: May you be like Ephraim and Manasseh. Our prayer for our children contains a hope that they can overcome history and do things differently and better than we have done them in the past. It is a resolution, a resolution to do better in the coming week, month, and year, than we have in the past.

As we reach the end of each book of Torah, it is our custom to announce the words, “Chazak, chazak, v’nitchazek – Be strong, be strong, and together we will be strengthened.” This custom developed over the course of Jewish history connected with God’s first revelation to Joshua after the death of Moses. God says: “Chazak ve’ematz – Be strong and resolute; do not be terrified or dismayed, for the Eternal your God is with you wherever you go” (Joshua 1:9). Three times in the first nine verses of the book of Joshua, God tells Joshua to be strong (Joshua 1:6, 7, 9). So, three times at the conclusion of a book of Torah, we tell one another to be strong: Chazak, chazak, v’nitchazek – Be strong, be strong, and together we will be strengthened. Our tradition tells us that the Torah is a source of life – eitz chayim hee l’machazikim ba v’tomcheha m’ushar – it is a tree of life to those who hold fast to it, and all of its supporters are happy (Proverbs 3:18). But Torah is also demanding. The Talmud (Sanhedrin 26b) tells us that Torah weakens the strength of a person. It makes demands on our time and energy, it sometimes places us in conflict with values and temptations that contemporary life places before us.[1] Our secular resolutions at this time of year should be ones that are not in conflict with our Jewish values.

On this Shabbat of New Year’s Day 2010, as we resolve to be better people through the secular year ahead, we ask God to help us to be strong, chazak, strong enough to be like Ephraim and Manasseh, brothers who overcame their potential for conflict. We ask God to make us strong, chazak, strong in our New Year’s Resolutions, so that our Jewish principles will be in harmony with them. And we hope to acquire the strength we need together – v’nitchazek – as we turn over a new leaf in Torah and as we begin 2010. Chazak, chazak, v’nitchazek – Be strong, be strong, and together let us be strengthened. Shabbat Shalom. And Happy New Year.

[1] Daniel Goldfarb, “Chazak – Renewing Our Strength When We Finish the Torah,” The Conservative Yeshiva in Jerusalem.

A Taste of Torah - Vayeshev - Chanukah

This week we begin our long sojourn in Egypt. In our Torah portion, Vayeshev, Joseph iritates his brothers so much that they cast him into a pit and subsequently sell him to the Ishmaelites who bring Joseph to Egypt. In the coming weeks, we'll read about Joseph's ascent to high society, namely in next week's Torah portion, Mikketz, Pharaoh will dress Joseph in the local garb, give him an Egpytian name (Zaphenath-paneah, Egyptian for 'God speaks; he lives.'), and Joseph will fully assimilate into Egyptian society so much so that when his brothers come down in search of food, they will not recognize him anymore.

Tonight, of course, also begins Hanukkah, the Jewish celebration of the Maccabees' revolt against the Syrian Greeks in 164 BCE. The Maccabees' revolt is one against assimilation, one which strives to have the Jewish community's particular qualities keep it separate from the larger society. And yet, the way we celebrate Hanukkah today, especially in America, has taken on one of the strongest qualities of assimilation. It has been commercialized. I was very surprised to find out while going through the stations on my car's XM Radio that from December 7-December 19, XM Radio has created a Hanukkah station, Radio Hanukkah. Radio Hanukkah leaves me conflicted. On the one hand, I absolutely love that for the first time in my recollection, I can turn on a radio station that plays holiday music and only hear Hanukkah music. I have heard Reform Jewish musical artists I know including Debbie Friedman, Rabbi Joe Black, Mark Bloom, and Rick Recht; I've heard Hanukkah songs I grew up singing, including the Dreidel Song, Oh Hanukkah, and Ma'oz Tzur; and I've even heard some of my favorite artists performing Hanukkah songs of their own, including the Barenaked Ladies. On the other hand, I realize that all of this feeling just like everyone else, having a radio station that plays music celebrating the holiday I am celebrating, means that my traditions are assimilating into the larger society. And then I have to ask myself, isn't the point of Hanukkah to celebrate our people's successful battle against assimilation?

Then, to top it all off, a friend shared an Op-Ed piece from today's New York Times by David Brooks, The Hanukkah Story. In his piece, Brooks shares the real story of Hanukkah. If you think the real story of Hanukkah is about the miracle of the oil and you'd like to keep on believing that, you probably want to stop reading at this point. In the real story of Hanukkah, there is no oil, but rather a rather bloody battle. I thought I knew the real story of Hanukkah, but this piece enlightened me to greater details about that period in our people's history. I always knew that Greek culture was infiltrating the Jewish community and that Mattathias and his sons, led by Judah Maccabee, succeeded in defeating the Greek army, reclaiming the Temple, and rededicating it for Jewish worship. What I didn't know was the battle that ensued within the Jewish community, too.

I should not have been surprised. The Maccabees and their followers not only went after the Greeks in the quest to hold on to Judaism as they saw it, but they also went after the members of their own Jewish community who had assimilated, Jews who had taken on Greek names like Jason, Jews who had begun exercising in the Greek gymnasiums, Jews who wanted to live in the secular world and the Jewish world simultaneously. All of a sudden, I didn't identify with the Maccabees. I identified with the Hellenistic Jews, the Jews who were adopting Greek culture. They wanted to feel like they were a part of the society around them; I want to feel like I'm a part of the society around me. They wanted to hear themselves reflected in the culture of their time; I want to hear myself reflected in the culture of my time (perhaps with Hanukkah music on the radio).

Of course, that left me wondering, if the person I am today would have sided with the Hellenistic Jews (whom Brooks, coincidently or deliberately, identifies as 'reformers'), then what does my celebration of Hanukkah actually celebrate? Am I supposed to now believe that the Jews of that time should not have adopted Greek culture at all? Is it that Antiochus went too far in outlawing Jewish practice, but if he hadn't done that the Maccabees' battle would not have been justified? I just don't know. What I do know is that when I light my menorah tonight, I will acknowledge that no matter how much I feel a part of the larger American society, even if there is a Hanukkah station on the radio now, I am still different. I do not feel bad that I am different. I celebrate that difference and at this time, I rededicate myself to acknowledging, accepting, and celebrating that difference. So, for what it's worth, Chag Chanukah Sameach, Happy Hanukkah!