Parshat Terumah: Giving & Taking

This week's parshah begins with something very near and dear to the heart of the Jewish community: contribution. HaShem says to the Israelites, “Take for Me (vayikchu-li) an offering from every person whose heart inspires him to generosity" in preparation for the construction of the mishkan, the tabernacle that will be carried throughout the desert and eventually will lead to the building of the Beit haMikdash, the holy Temple.

It's a particular word spin, and I hope it makes you pause. The Big Man speaks, saying we should take from ourselves -- but only if we're inspired! The verb that's used does not mean give, it means quite literally to take, which also is peculiar because how does one take of himself or from himself? How does one provide a contribution on command and guarantee that it's genuinely inspired?

Very little of giving today happens on demand. HaShem doesn't call us on Super Sunday and say we have to give to our local federations or that the local Jewish retirement facility needs funds so we must give. And even if that did happen, would we? What compels us to give? Is it the action of taking of ourselves rather than giving of ourselves? It becomes a two-way street when you take something from your own life, from your own lot, and provide it for others. When you give, it's less so.

I want to start using more folktales on the blog (and really, who doesn't), so let's start with this one, a Yiddish one, that offers perspective on the difference between "giving" and "taking."

"Yankel the Cheapskate" would not give money to anyone, for any reason. It didn't matter how important the cause. No one could crack him. He just wouldn't contribute. One day, Yankel was crossing the river in a small boat. Suddenly, a huge storm breaks out, and his boat capsizes. Luckily, another boat approached. The sailor calls out to him: "Give me your hand. Give me your hand."

Yankel can barely hear him over the strong winds and the roaring waves. He hears only one word, over and over: "Give, Give..."

And good old Yankel can't help himself. He yells back: "No. I don't give. I don't give."

Again: "Yankel, give me your hand! Give me your hand." And again Yankel screams: "Never. I don't give."

Finally, in desperation, the rescuer yells: "Yankel, take my hand." And Yankel says: "Oh, take? Sure."

I think that this week's parshah offers a spin on what we considering taking. To take something from someone else benefits the self, so perhaps HaShem knew that asking the Israelites to take of themselves would give them a chance to feel a part of the building of the mishkan. No matter how poor or rich, old or young, everyone provided for the construction. Everyone took of themselves to put into the construction of a dwelling place for the shechinah (the divine presence of HaShem). 

An old adage says that "A fool gives, a wise person takes." Be the wise person and whenever you offer a contribution or gift, make sure that you're taking of yourself and not just giving. Okay? Okay. 

That's your public service announcement for Shabbat. If you want more on the awesome goodness that is tzedakah, I suggest you check out Maimonides Eight Levels of Charity, which is fascinating. 

Breaking Through the Darkness

In 2007, I wrote, regarding this week's Torah portion:

Having never read through the Bible/Torah before, even in my youth (I was raised w/o religion, essentially), I was unfamiliar with some of the plagues. Perhaps the one I was most unfamiliar with is the Ninth Plague -- darkness. The sages surmise that it wasn't physical darkness, such as that brought by a sandstorm or eclipse, but rather that it was "a spiritual or psychological darkness, a deep depression." The Torah reads, "People could not see one another, and for three days no one could get up from where he was" (Ex. 10:23). The commentary comments that people suffering from depression often lack the energy to move about or to concern themselves with others, focusing instead on themselves. Having nearly drowned in the sea of darkness that is depression myself, I read this and am completely overwhelmed. My mother and the man I love both suffer that which was plagued on the Egyptians. A darkness that comes and goes, though.


The commentary reads: "The person who cannot see his neighbor is incapable of spiritual growth, incapable of rising from where he is currently." Amid the Ninth Plague, "People could not see one another." The Catch 22 of depression is that, oftentimes, one feels so absolutely alone that he or she is driven into the depths of darkness where it is most lonely. Yet, if the person is incapable of seeing his or her neighbor to begin with, and within darkness is also unable to see his or her neighbor, what is to release them so that they can attain spiritual growth?


One of the hardest lessons that I'm learning after my divorce, my move, and my new relationship is knowing that I'm not alone. So many people have supported me through everything, and there have been so many expressions of love, support, and outreach, but when you're stuck in your aloneness and loneliness, those are hard spaces of darkness out of which to break.

Taylor reminds me, almost daily, that I am not alone -- "After all," he says, "Isn't this why we have each other?"

My dialogue with HaShem is continuous, and many of my prayers are for strength, peace, and guidance. I'm slowly rising from the darkness that I have known for so long, and it starts with realizing that I am not alone, despite how much I feel that. It's like an arrested development. At some point, I was faced with being alone, worthless, the wish that I had never been born vocalized outside myself. I'm attempting to remove myself from that arrested status emotionally and mentally.

I would guess that this plague, the plague of darkness, was the most painful and heartbreaking of them all. I wish such a plague upon no one and only hope that we all can learn from darkness and remember that the one thing that HaShem truly asks of us is to bring light into this world. And that light arises from our neshamot. Be true to yourself, let your neshama shine through, light the fire and let it grip the world around you into brightness.

Your Friendly Parshah Thought

This week's Torah portion is Beshalach and includes that fateful moment of the splitting of the Sea of Reeds and Israel's redemption from the Egyptians, as well as the subsequent rave on the other side led by none other than Miriam and the ladies (did you remember you glow sticks?). I could say a lot about the portion, but I'll merely share the following. It's food for thought, delicious, nutritious, sustaining thought.

On Ex. 14:14: "The Lord will battle for you; you hold your peace," the notes in the Etz Chayim Tanakh offer a poignant interpretation of this line saying, "G-d will support and defend you -- but only when you stop quarreling among yourselves. A united people merits G-d's intervention." It's that second line that strikes me, particularly. It takes a people united to gain intervention of G-d, obviously. Is the intervention an allusion to Moshiach? But is this only the peace of the Israelites that grants intervention? G-d intervenes, saving the Israelites, but the rest of the world (assumingly) is not at peace. Is this a selective thing?

Most importantly, does it imply that perhaps when there is peace within the Jewish community that intervention will arrive? Perhaps G-d isn't just sitting idly by, perhaps he's waiting? "A united people merits G-d's intervention."

Indeed. (This was adapted from a blog post, B'Shelach: The Parting of the Sea of Reeds.)

Note: Thank you to everyone for your support on the jDeal.com Battle of the Bloggers competition -- I won! I'm now the jDeal.com Ambassador 2011! Stay tuned for awesomeness

I Choose You ... PikaJew!

From this week's parshah,

(17) You have selected the Lord this day, to be your God, and to walk in His ways, and to observe His statutes, His commandments and His ordinances, and to obey Him. (18) And the Lord has selected you this day to be His treasured people, as He spoke to you, and so that you shall observe all His commandments.

I wrote about this back in 2007, and it's interesting because I feel much the same about this particular section of the parshah as I did then. I have bolded the sections "You have selected HaShem this day" and "HaShem has selected you this day," because, for me, as a convert, this is incredibly poignant, especially during this super special month of Elul (renewal, reflection, reconsideration). As someone who literally chose Judaism and HaShem, these words sing to me.

The interesting this is that clearly, HaShem chose me first (for converts, the understanding is that you are born with a Jewish neshama and that it takes time for the neshama to sort of, crawl out -- like "Alien," but less creepy), and I chose to choose HaShem, embracing the agressive neshama within. However, the fact that it says "this day" suggests something further. A constant, perpetual, renewing choice. Every day I wake up, I choose HaShem, I choose Judaism. I choose to say my morning blessings, to cover my hair, to put on a nice tzniut (modest) outfit, to eat kosher and say my blessings over foods, to treat others in the way of a mensch, etc. The way this is worded -- and I think everything in the Torah is worded so very precisely, with a specific, basic meaning -- suggests that we must choose to be Jews every day, chose to carry ourselves in a certain way, and that, in turn, HaShem chooses us back.

All of that being said, it's a weird choice to make daily. I quipped in 2007 that "I'm sure I'm not the first to admit that the compelling pull of Judaism is as indescribable as is the idea of Noah's flood." That, I'm sure, makes sense to many of you. It is almost as if ... even if I would wake up tomorrow and say, "I'm done, no more Judaism for me," the pull would be so intense that I wouldn't be able to walk away, no matter how hard I would try.

About these verses Rashi says,

you have selected; has selected you ~ Heb. הֶאמִיר‏ְ We do not find any equivalent expression in the Scriptures [which might give us a clue to the meaning of these words]. However, it appears to me that [the expression הֶאמִיר] denotes separation and distinction. [Thus, here, the meaning is as follows:] From all the pagan deities, you have set apart the Lord for yourself, to be your God, and He separated you to Him from all the peoples on earth to be His treasured people. 

Conclusion? I think Rashi would agree with me.

Lesson? Choose Judaism, choose your path (if it's not Judaism, then, choose what makes your heart sing, just do it with all of your heart and soul), and you'll be chosen in return.

Shabbat Shalom!

Balak: Retro-style.

Because I'm too insanely busy schlepping things back and forth from Connecticut to the Poconos and today to New Jersey (where I'll happily be reunited with Husband Tuvia), I don't have much time to review the parshah and put some decent, practical thought to it. So, I've looked back THREE YEARS (good lord, I can't believe I've been sustaining this blog that long) to this post, and I've pasted below a portion of the blog post's thoughts on this week's parshah, Balak. Enjoy!

I don't have much (if anything) to say expressly about Balak, this week's Torah portion. The only sort of thought-invoking bit of commentary in Etz Chayim is in regards to Balak's urging for the curse on the Israelites and Balaams persistent relaying of G-d's message that you cannot curse those who are blessed.

The text cites the Baal Shem Tov, who said "A Jew is never alone. G-d is always with every Jew." Then there is Abraham Joshua Heschel (not cited here, but all the same), who said "The Jew is never alone in the face of G-d; the Torah is always with him." Is G-d with us? Torah with us? Neither? Either? Both? Are they one in the same?

I was watching this episode of "Whose Wedding Is It Anyway?" on Style last night, and I was taken by one of the stories. It was a couple who had hastened their wedding vows after they'd started dating. Why? Well, she was diagnosed with an incredibly rare form of leukemia (.5-two people diagnosed each year worldwide) and given three-five years to live. She surpassed the time frame and six years after the diagnosis met the man. His story was that he'd been in a horrible car accident on an exit ramp on the freeway and had walked away. Less than a week later, because of a concussion and emotional trauma from the other accident, he rammed his car into the back of a city truck, completely decimating his vehicle and causing his near death. Then they met, realizing that they both were sort of knocking on heaven's door, fell in love, and got engaged. I don't consider it a miracle or necessarily a gift from G-d that either of them are bright, shining people who are giving back with a cancer scholarship and countless philanthropic activities -- they are the epitome of the perfect romance. However, I have to think that perhaps the everyday presence of G-d maintains some balance, some equilibrium. Then again, I don't even know if these two people were religious -- let alone Jewish (not that that matters).

If you Google "A Jew is never alone" ... you receive (at present) 76 entries (though only about 20 *really* show up). Many are variations on the Baal Shem Tov's famous words. Then there's random expressions of the Jew and his loneliness: "The Yarmulke is a constant reminder that a Jew is never alone. He walks with G-d. It is a feeling of assurance and comfort" (Jlaw.com).

It would seem that the Jew is never alone -- be it G-d or the yarmulke as a reminder of G-d or the mitzvot and laws of G-d in Torah. I imagine it is whether we accept or deny this as such. Does the denial of the constant presence make those moments in which we pray hard and fast for the protection of a sick relative or lover that much more effective and strong -- in OUR eyes? I often look at the religious Jew, he who is constantly swimming in Torah and wonder if -- when there are moments of desperation -- he feels as effective and firm and hopeful in his prayers as he who perhaps only calls on G-d in moments of crises. The constant presence may dull the effectiveness (in our minds, that is), nu? On the other hand, acknowledging the constant presence might allow us to take G-d for granted, to not appreciate the peace of mind.

Okay, so I lied. I had plenty to say about this tiny little quip of the Baal Shem Tov. I just didn't anticipate it.

For what it's worth, about 200 results come about today. That's quite a few more than three years ago. It's an interesting reflection on who I was three years ago, saying "I often look at the religious Jew ..." and here I am, now, a religious Jew. I think I can answer that question: Yes. Yes she does feel as effective and firm and hopeful in her prayers as those individuals who only call on G-d in moments of crises. That she is me, and I know how it feels.

I will add, however, that I feel quite blessed with all that I have in life. Those who once cursed me for who I am and how I choose to live my life be damned, because you can't curse the person who is blessed!

Here's an early Shabbat Shalom to you all. Stay tuned for upcoming posts on the illustrious Susanne Goldstone-Rosenhouse, recently named one of the awesome 36 Under 36 by The Jewish Week, as well as a blog post on Jewish truckers (yes, you read that right, it's an intrigue that I have after my many days of highway time these few weeks).

Man is a Tree of the Field

Tu B'Shevat cometh! I sort of feel like it's one of those chagim that becomes irrelevant or insignificant in the Diaspora. It's the kind of holiday that makes sense when you're lucky enough to be living in the Land of Israel, but when you're in the U.S. or somewhere else, it's difficult to connect. After all, here in Connecticut we had a big, blizzardy snowstorm yesterday that resulted in me nearly killing myself twice. I'll admit it looks beautiful outside, but it definitely doesn't compare at all to it being the New Year of Trees in the Jewish calendar. In Israel, this is the time in which the earliest-blooming trees start to show their flare. Jews mark the day -- which happens to fall on Shabbat this year, January 30 -- by eating fruits, including grapes, figs, pomegranates, olives, and dates; these all are fruits of Israel named in the Hebrew Bible/Torah.

We also remember, or we're supposed to, that "Man is a tree of the field" (Deut. 20:19). At least, that's what Chabad.org tells me. So what does it mean, that "Man is a tree of the field"? To me, it means that there is a field of HaShem's creation, and man is the tree in that field of creation, standing tall and firm through wind, rain, and everything else nature and HaShem throw our way. Trees are quite resilient, withstanding the pressure of heavy snow, the break of lightning, and the gale-force wind that blows houses and cars away like leaves. Also, trees stand firm through all seasons, going through cycles of life while firmly rooted in the earth. They lose leaves, gain leaves, stand dry and bare, and blossom beautifully. Man, too, is like a tree. We stand firmly, rooted in the religion and ways of our forefathers, our roots spread the world over, connected to each and every Jew so that together, with our roots intertwined, we can withstand all that history has thrown at us. As the seasons come and go, man also is like a tree. Our life-cycle events come and go. We grow sick, and healthy, we experience simchas of joy and beauty and instances of sadness and bareness. Our emotions and outlooks sway in the winds of change, but it is our roots that help us stand firm through even our darkest moments and heaviest storms.

Of course, I could be completely wrong. This is simply my understanding of the verse. As such, then, on Tu B'Shevat, those of us in the Diaspora must transplant ourselves to Israel, where the earliest blooming trees are starting to show their color and bounty, giving off new fruit and new hope. Thus, we, too, can stand as the tree of the field, remembering that there are cycles in life and that now is a time for us to bloom, to stand as tall as we can, showing our bounty and our pride in our roots and resilience.

At this time of newness and bounty, how do you understand the phrase, "Man is a tree of the field"? There are plenty of explanations on the web. Simply Google the phrase and see what you find!

Shabbat shalom, friends!

Note: You also might want to read something I wrote *WAY BACK* in 2006 about the roots of trees and standing during kaddish.

Parshah Ki Teitzei: Unite to Fight

This week's parshah, Ki Teitzei, comprises 74 of the 613 mitzvot found in the Torah. That's a big chunk of important stuff, if you ask me. Thus, I'd like to offer some thoughts -- but the thoughts of Rabbi Marc D. Angel in his weekly Angel for Shabbat column, delivered conveniently to my inbox. You can sign up for the mailing right here.

There is a [...] kind of hatred which is totally baseless. This is the hatred symbolized by Amalek. Amalek offered no justification for its opposition to Israel; it had nothing to gain by attacking the Israelites. Amalek was imbued with pure and undiluted anti-Israelite sentiments. This kind of hatred, so totally unfounded and irrational, is much more difficult to eradicate. Therefore, the Torah commands us to be exceedingly vigilant regarding this latter kind of hatred, typified by Amalek.

Sadly, this irrational hatred of Jews has been passed by Amalek throughout the generations, up to our own day. There are those who hate Jews, hate Israel with a blind, irrational hatred. They have nothing to gain from hurting us, and have no reason to cause us ill. Yet, they seem to be infected with a disease of hatred for which they cannot  be (or do not wish to be) cured. For them, Israel and the Jews are always wrong. Don't confuse them with facts.

Rabbinic tradition teaches that Israel can defeat Amalek by strengthening our own spiritual condition. When we live according to the highest teachings and values of Torah, when we live in a spirit of love and compassion, then we undermine the forces of Amalek.

This is not a theoretical discussion. The Jewish community needs to mobilize itself to uproot the forces of Amalek in our world. Baseless hatred against us will not simply disappear on its own. Oppression of Jews will not suddenly come to a halt through wishful thinking. Rather, we need to utilize all legitimate methods available to us to help eradicate anti-Semitism, and to work with all people of good will who share our dream of a world freed from irrational hatred, bigotry and violence.

I think this is a constant and important message. Although on the same note, across the Jewish blog-o-sphere these days, not to mention in everyday conversation and at Shabbat tables, people are talking about the dangerous and catastrophic infighting the greater Jewish community is facing. Am Yisrael is suffering, but not from what's going on around us, what's going on within us. How can we unite to fight our enemies if we can't get over our differences as Jews? So let's quit opressing one another and focusing on uplifting ourselves spiritually to fight the "forces of Amalek" that the rabbi talks about. We're an everlasting people. It's time we acted like it!

A Little White Lie

I was delighted last week with the Torah portion, Acharei-Kedoshim. We were discussing it at shul when I met with the rabbi and during a discussion of the casting off of sins on the head of the goat, we got into the whole "scape goat derives from this" discussion. It wasn't so much of a discussion as a mention, but as the rabbi related more to the story about the red string tied around the goat's neck turning red after it was thrown off the cliff ... wait. What? I stopped the rabbi.

"This isn't in the Torah text, is it?" I inquired. "Yes, yes it is," the rabbi responded.

I didn't have a chumash handy, so I continued, thinking maybe I'd forgotten the text. After all, it had been a year since I last read the portion and was mostly going off memory. The rabbi explained that someone would take the goat out to a cliff, and chuck it over with a string attached to its neck. Once this red string turned white, the person could go back to the camp and tell the Israelites that they were kosher, their sins were atoned for. This got me thinking that if the text is where we derive the scape goat term, then maybe this is also where we get the concept of a "white lie." We discussed whether every year, without fail, the string turned from red to white. It was the messenger's duty to return to the camp from the cliff to say "Bravo! You passed the test! You're sin-free!" But what if it didn't turn white. What would the messenger do? Would he lie to the people? After all, it wasn't so much important that they were all clear and free, but rather that they kept believing in the idea of the act. So, it was suggested, maybe every now and again the messenger came back and had to tell a lie -- but it was a good lie, it kept the people strong, hopeful, and believing. It was, in essence, a "white lie."

I asked the rabbi what he thought about the concept, and he thought it was an interesting suggestion. So I've been waiting for about a week to look into it. Needing a break from my paper on the illustrious (not) Imma Shalom, I Googled the parshah to make sure the text was right.

Much to my dismay, this isn't a Torah narrative. The goat gets sent off into the wilderness, darn't. That's all the Torah says. I remember being frustrated originally when reading it. I mean, how do they know the goat hasn't wandered back around camp? Bringing their sins back to roost? I'd taken the rabbi's statement as gold, but I've come to find out that the embellishment of the cliff and the string comes from the later writings, not the Torah. .

Talk about a bummer. The differentiation, as an academic and as a Jew, really, is important to me. Either way, I think I've got a compelling case for where "white lie" really came from. What do you think?

A Ditty of a D'Var.

 

In this week's parshah, Vayak'hel-Pekudei, after all the turmoil and frustration of the Golden Calf incident, Moses' first word to the people is on keeping the Sabbath. This seems odd, almost outlandish. The people commit this great misstep, and they're looking for some reassurance and comfort from Moses on G-d's love for the people and what does Moses say? "These are the things that he Lord commanded to make. Six days work may be done, but on the seventh day you shall have sanctity, a day of complete rest to the Lord" (Exodus 35:1-2).

I'm reminded of something I wrote after the interesting Shabbaton I attended back in November in Crown Heights, about the prescription "a leap of faith." In that blog post, I wrote that unlike in some other religions, because Judaism is very action-based, to be Jewish requires a "leap of action" more than a leap of faith. Zalman Posner, on Chabad.org, iterates a similar idea, I think.

Judaism's shield against assimilation, the guarantor of Israel's integrity, is not its theology but its devotion to observance of mitzvot, carrying out G-d's will in daily living. Israel's ability to withstand the golden calves of all sorts is embodied in the tefillin and Shabbat and dietary laws that make Torah as much a part of life as eating and making a living. Devotion to Judaism can be developed only through using Judaism, living it. Throughout history we have seen that Jews who lived Judaism, lived; those who neglected its observance, despite earnestly professed warm feelings and love for its ideals, were ultimately lost to our people.

Posner also suggests that the constant refrain of Torah, threaded throughout the five books is that "not expounding is important, but deed."

I'd never thought about this before (though I can't seem to find any prior d'varim on it that I've written, though I know I have), and it's only in the first few lines of the parshah, but it's significant. It's a reminder that one cannot just "be" Jewish, one must "live" Jewish. There's more to being Jewish than just saying you are, right?

As we approach another Shabbat (though not for many, many more hours thanks to this crazy time change), keep the idea of living Jewish in your mind. How do you live Jewish? Belief is a part of being Jewish, but as with many things, it takes action to develop passion.

Shabbat Shalom! And don't forget that today is Shabbat Across America! Head to shul, meet some folks, get your Jew on!

Punk Rock Meets Torah!

I was stoked to see this little bit on Atlanta-based punk rockers Can Can, whose lead man Patrick A. has started posting up YouTube videos on the weekly parshah. I'm mad in love with musicians who are also Torah savvy, like Stereo Sinai and YLove.

According to Nextbook, "Patrick, the only Jew in the band, studies Torah daily and ostentatiously flaunts his Judaism in interviews and onstage. It doesn’t come out as much in the lyrics—not overtly—although lines like “I’ve got a hand on the Bible/you’ve got your hands on my mouth” speak to the experience of being religious and existing outside the box." (And if you look carefully, Stereo Sinai was also featured in this little bit from January!)

I haven't listened all the way through, but so far I'm quite stoked to see what Patrick has to offer up weekly.

A Golden Calf, You Say?

Photo courtesy BrickTestament.com!

This week's parshah, Ki Tisa, is my favorite parshah (after only Lech Lecha, of course). I devoted half of my workload last semester to text from this portion, making it very near and dear to my heart. My time with this parshah is not up or over, and I intend on spending more time with it in the not-so-distant future. So I give you, an "abstract" of sorts from my paper, and if you're REALLY interested in what I have to say, you know, I can let you read the whole thing. I'll be presenting the paper (it's a more academic approach than a religious approach, but I think it's important for just about everyone to consider the text, the facts, the everything) at the end of next month at an SBL conference, too!

Exodus 32 and the Sin at Sinai: A Reconsideration of the Golden Calf 

The incident of the sin at Sinai in Exodus 32 is known as one of the most divisive and difficult portions of Torah for complicated theological, historical, and textual reasons. In Jewish and scholarly circles, opinions vary on what the golden calf (עגל הזהב) was meant to represent – was it a replacement for Moses? Was it meant as a footstool for the presence of God? Or, perhaps most widely agreed upon, was the golden calf meant to be a replacement for God in the likeness of a pagan image? As a result, the discussion on Exodus 32 and the passages surrounding it expands into questions of motive, responsibility, authorship, purpose, and, ultimately, meaning. The golden calf incident and, subsequently, the research and composition of this paper, is significant in the sphere of Judaic scholarship, as the incident very early on became a divisive issue in Jewish and non-Jewish circles, representing the “original sin of the Israelite people.” Through an exploration of the peculiarities and hypotheses about the composition and purpose of Exodus 32, the archaeological evidence, and the varying accepted opinions on the role of the calf in the larger narrative, this paper focuses almost exclusively on the idol figure itself in order to recast the popular perception of the golden calf.

The biggie? The difference between idol figures and idol objects. I know your salivating ... 

An additional thought? I wrote about this a few years back during this portion, and since I've started donating daily, I think it's pretty appropriate for me to mention now, too. The parshah begins with a donation of a half-shekel by every individual older than 20 (a common belief is that religion is not suited for children, only adults can understand the depth and magnitude of religion and Torah). The donation is cited as "each shall pay," which in the Hebrew isv'nat'nu, or vav-nun-taph-nun-vav. Holy Moses! A palindrome! And a mighty important one (yet something else I probably wouldn't have gathered all on my own, amazing sages). Some have said that this suggests that charity is a two-way street. The Vilna Gaon says that this reminds us "that one who gives today may have to receive tomorrow."

So remember that, folks -- tzedakah is a two-way street. When I was a kid/teen and we ran into financial woes, we had to seek out help. There were very, very hard times. In college I had to seek help from a friend -- who obliged without even thinking about it -- and if he were ever to ask for help from me, if I were able to give it, I would. He who needs today might need tomorrow, so always give!

Rabbi Angel on Megillat Esther!

Rabbi Marc D. Angel is one of my favorite rabbis -- he always has a unique perspective on situations relevant to today but via events in our history as the Jewish people. Each week, in my little GMail inbox there arrives a d'var Torah of sorts by Angel from JewishIdeas.org, and this week, the rabbi discusses the Megillat Esther. Since I'm quite busy these days and can't seem to come up with a few seconds for some original thoughts, I think I'll rely on the pros to really hit the point home -- after all, Purim is the word this week in the Jewish Blog-o-Sphere!

The reading of the Scroll of Esther is a central feature of the Purim holiday. ... Yet, there are a number of troubling questions that need to be addressed.

1. Mordecai is described as a strongly-identified Jew; yet, he asks Esther to conceal her Jewishness when going to the king's palace. Why? 2. Why did Esther agree to marry a non-Jewish king? 3. Why didn't anyone in the king's employ realize that Esther was Jewish?

It would seem that Mordecai and Esther are actually "bad" role models for the Jewish people. We teach pride in our identity; we oppose assimilation and intermarriage. Proper religious leaders would not condone their behavior. It would seem that Esther was indeed an assimilated Jewish woman. There was nothing about her that gave away the fact that she was Jewish; she blended in perfectly with Persian society. Not even the king and his retinue had a clue that Esther was Jewish. Mordecai--although a proudly-identified Jew--seems to have decided that it was best for Esther to pass herself off as a non-Jew and to marry the non-Jewish king.

If Mordecai and Esther are so assimilated (even their names are Persian, not Hebrew), how is it that they are heroes of Purim, and that the Scroll of Esther is part of our Bible? Here is a suggestion: the book of Esther teaches us that even in the worst of circumstances when Jews lack appropriate religious leadership, the Almighty finds ways to redeem our people. No Jew--no matter how assimilated--should be counted out; on the contrary, every Jew could be the one to help his/her people in times of distress. The Scroll of Esther is included in our Bible to remind us that each Jew can play a significant role in the unfolding of our history and tradition. It is no wonder that Esther was a source of inspiration to crypto-Jews of all generations; she was a historic reminder that even Jews living in hiding could rise to greatness on behalf of the Jewish people.

As we celebrate Purim this year, let us reaffirm our commitment to our teachings and our traditions. Let us also reaffirm our commitment to all our fellow Jews, regardless of their levels of religiosity and Jewish identification. As we face the many challenges to Israel and to world Jewry, let each of us imagine how we can play a role in the unfolding greatness and redemption of the Jewish people.

Well said, rabbi, and these are words to live by. Try as we might, we can't escape G-d. On the contrary, we should be seeking out G-d by, as the rabbi says, reaffirming our commitment to our teachings and traditions. Light the Shabbos candles, hit up the shul, do something to support tikkun olam, put out a tzedakah box or start saying Modeh Ani or the bedtime Sh'ma. It's the little steps that remind us that G-d is there in all we do. It's one of those things that, well, we just have to come to terms with!

Challah, Honey and Slaves.

Shabbat shalom! Almost, that is. We're close enough that our friends in Israel are practically on it, and I'm already in preparation mode (though, in reality I should have probably made the challah last night when I had the chance). I was up early this morning, dropped Tuvia off at work so I could have his car to go to class, run errands, get some shopping in, and get to shul tonight (*grumbles*).

It's weird being at the grocery store at 8 a.m. The elderly crowd hadn't even breached the entrance when I was in there, buying honey (for the challah), peanut butter, treats and most importantly -- some flowers. It was eerily quiet and the outside of the building smelled potently of donuts. I avoided the pastry section, though, despite my love of fresh-baked pastries. I picked up some beautiful yellow flowers for the Shabbos table, as I recall there being something special about having flowers at the Shabbos table though I'm not sure what. I'll have to look into that. But the grocery store in the morning? What an experience. Everything is stocked, fresh produce is coming out, the aisles are brimming with food.

Now I'm on campus, waiting for Hebrew to start. I brought my siddur with me (Ohel Sarah in the HOUSE!) and for the first time in my life, I davened a bit on my own. (Before the 4th halakic hour, even! Okay, I'm only half serious, but this halakic hour business is going to take some figuring out/getting used to.) Yes, I'm in the Judaic studies office, alone, but it felt like I was starting the day right. Honey for Challah. Flowers for the table. Davening out of my sparkly new siddur. It feels good to start the day right, to do things right.

But tonight? Meh. Tuvia's job is keeping him under wraps this weekend, and his boss has demanded that he be on call all weekend and that tonight? Tonight he must be around super late, beyond late, ridiculously late. A 12+ hour day for him. This means I am driving the car to the shul, and picking him up from work after shul. And tomorrow? I might not even be able to go to shul. Too many geographical and logistical challenges. So I'm trying to do what I can --  make a nice dinner, make challah, set the table, prepare the house in all its knobs and whistles Shabbat style (I love my Kosher lamp), in the hopes that maybe, maybe that guilt I have felt every weekend since moving to Connecticut from Chicago where I could easily keep Shabbos will not be as potent.

So for now, I'll smell the flowers and imagine myself in a cute little house a half mile or so from the shul, schlepping back and forth on Shabbos, not having to worry about cars or distance or logistics. It'll just be easy. Or is this wishful thinking? Only time can tell, I suppose.

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In 2007, I wrote a bit on this week's portion, Mishpatim, that I'm quite proud of. The discussion of slavery and the rules therein seem pretty outdated, but Maimonides makes some pretty good points regarding the old "eye for an eye philosophy," so there's also a discussion of the Laws of Hammurabi over on the archived post. So I don't think I could write a new post better, really, so I'm just going to offer up the LINK to that post. And here's just a teaser ...

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February 2007: I read somewhere that many of Torah's laws are like an onion -- there are many layers to the meaning. As time moves on, a layer peels away and we must return to the law to seek out it's spiritual meaning so that we do not simply discard it as outdated and irrelevant. Here's an article over at Chabad.org that discusses the different ways we interpret Torah, especially in relation to this parshah.

I'm a firm believer that every rule and law in Torah is completely applicable today, if not from a literal standpoint then from a metaphorical and spiritual standpoint. I highly doubt G-d would reach down and throw out a bunch of essential rules for life, only to have them become outdated in a couple thousand years. Adaptation is, perhaps, a test of faith, intelligence, understanding and acceptance.

Another great article, "Is Religion Still Relevant?" by Yossy Goldman is pretty quality. It runs with the idea that "everything has changed, but it's stayed the same."

The very same issues dealt with in the Bible -- sibling rivalry, jealous partners, and even murder -- are still the stuff of newspaper headlines today. So what else is new? Has anything changed? Yes, today we have astronauts and space stations and laser beams and laptops, but the basic issues and choices human beings must face remain identical. Once upon a time the question was do I hit him with my club or slice him up with my sword. Today the question is do I call up the nuclear submarines or send in the guided missiles? ...

... Torah is truth and truth is eternal. Scenarios come and go. Lifestyles change with the geography. The storylines are different but the gut level issues are all too familiar. If we ever needed religion -- or in our language, Torah -- we need it equally today and maybe more so. May we continue to find moral guidance and clarity in the eternal truths of our holy and eternal Torah. Amen.

So whenever you think back to the mitzvot or Torah and think "psshaw, oxen and slaves are so old school" take another look. Read the commentaries, explore the Torah, examine the Sages, talk to Rashi and Maimonides, because there is definitely more to "an eye for an eye" than meets the eye.

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Shabbat shalom, everyone!

Did Yitro Really Convert?

When I was meeting with the rabbi this morning, he mentioned this week's parshah, Yitro, in relation to conversion, and it got me thinking more about the portion.

Yitro, also known as Jethro, is Moshe's father-in-law, also known as the father of Tzipporah, Moshe's wife! Together, Moshe and Tzipporah have two children. In this parshah, Yitro brings Tzipporah and the two boys out to Moshe to be reunited with their father. Likewise, Yitro helps Moshe delegate some of the work that is keeping him overly busy (decision-making and what have you) so that he can spend some time with his family. The big thing about this parshah, though, is that Yitro supposedly converts to Moshe's and the Israelite's religion (not quite yet Judaism, but, you know).

When the rabbi was discussing this, he focused on Yitro's returning to his land in Exodus 18:27. We never hear about Yitro again, and the rabbi suggested that the reason we never hear from Yitro again is perhaps because he faded back into the way of the idolatrous land -- without community, he couldn't live as a Jew.

I've always had a difficult time accepting the fact that Yitro converts in this parshah. The basis for this assumption is that Yitro is talking to Moshe, telling him about all that he had heard for what G-d did for the Isarelites in Egypt, and goes on to say, in Exodus 18:11, that he now knows that G-d is the greatest of all gods. In some translations, it reads that "your G-d is the greatest of all gods" and in others merely "G-d is the greatest of all gods." There is a big difference between the two, but overall the argument remains. By simply stating that he believes that G-d is greater than all other gods, is this a basis for assuming that Yitro embraces the Israelite religion? As a pagan, perhaps Yitro had various gods, and Yitro recognized that G-d is the greatest, but that does not mean that he embraced YHWH as the ONLY god.

At the end of this passage, in Exodus 18:27, it says that Moshe sees his father off, and Yitro goes home to his own land. The parenthetical in my Gutnick Chumash adds "to convert his family" after this statement, which I find a little troublesome. (This derives from the Rashi commentary.) If Yitro had in fact left, converted his family to the Israelite religion, and went about his life, wouldn't they have joined the rest of the Israelites? This is pre-Diaspora, of course. Or if they had led their lives -- if Yitro had converted his entire clan -- wouldn't we have heard about them later in life?

It is, thus, believable that once Yitro left the Israelites he fell back into his old many-godded ways. Without the community, one can lose their sense of self, and this is absolutely true. I often find myself longing to be within the community -- if you're surrounded by observant people, people having kosher dinners and being shomer Shabbos and walking to shul and schlepping in the eruv, it's so much easier to really be a part of a community, to feel a sense of self within the community, and most importantly, to feel a sense of self within.

Yitro, having left the community, faded into the annals of the Tanakh, never to be heard from again. Did he become a Jew? Did he convert the masses? Did he die alone, without a sense of self, wondering if his grandchildren were helping to grow the nation of Israel? Who knows. But it's a fascinating commentary on the parshah.

I could write a lot more about this parshah and about conversion as a result, but it's for another time and another post. I'm looking forward to the upcoming parshah Ki Tisa -- the infamous portion with the sin of the Golden Calf! My tour de force! My first-semester's work! Prepare for a monsoon of good Torah-y goodness!

Parshah Bo: Reflected!

In an effort to reconnect with the weekly Torah portion, I've started looking through my old posts from when I was reading the portion each week and writing a d'var of sorts. Since I've gone back to school, I spend a great deal of time in texts, but I don't really spend a lot of time relating personally to them so much as I do academically to them. Being a Jewish person mastering in Judaic studies, I think this can be a common thing. It's one thing if you're learning in seminary or yeshivah, and it's an entirely different thing if iyou're studying in a public university, as I am. I prefer to learn in a public university, to be completely honest, but I think I miss out on the spiritual side of learning sometimes. With that said, I bring you some of my comments, with amendations, for Parashat Bo, which I wrote in January 2007 -- a whole two years ago, yikes! I have deleted some comments entirely, and you can read the full original post at the January 2007 link, and additional comments are in bold. There's nothing particularly profound here, so pardon the simplicity of my observations.

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In this parshah are the three final plagues: locusts, darkness and, finally, the death of the first born. The Israelites leave the land, matzot and thousands in tow.

+ Ex. 10:14 "Locusts invaded all the land of Mitzrayim ... never before had there been so many, nor will there ever be so many again." I appreciate knowing that never again will a swarm of locusts be brought upon the land. It's comforting. (Still comforting!)

Rashi's comments on this:

And the one [the locust plague] that took place in the days of Joel, about which it is said: “the like of which has never been” (Joel 2:2), [from which] we learn that it was more severe than that of [the plague in the days of] Moses-namely because that one was [composed] of many species [of locusts] that were together: arbeh, yelek, chasil, [and] gazam; but [the locust plague] of Moses consisted of only one species [the arbeh], and its equal never was and never will be.

+ Having never read through the Bible/Torah before, even in my youth (I was raised w/o religion, essentially), I was unfamiliar with some of the plagues. Perhaps the one I was most unfamiliar with is the Ninth Plague -- darkness. The sages surmise that it wasn't physical darkness, such as that brought by a sandstorm or eclipse, but rather that it was "a spiritual or psychological darkness, a deep depression." The Torah reads, "People could not see one another, and for three days no one could get up from where he was" (Ex. 10:23). The commentary comments that people suffering from depression often lack the energy to move about or to concern themselves with others, focusing instead on themselves. (Deleted sections.)

The commentary reads: "The person who cannot see his neighbor is incapable of spiritual growth, incapable of rising from where he is currently." Amid the Ninth Plague, "People could not see one another." The Catch 22 of depression is that, oftentimes, one feels so absolutely alone that he or she is driven into the depths of darkness where it is most lonely. Yet, if the person is incapable of seeing his or her neighbor to begin with, and within darkness is also unable to see his or her neighbor, what is to release them so that they can attain spiritual growth? (Deleted sections.)

+ I cherish the explanation behind the creation of the Jewish calendar in Ex. 12:2 and why our calendar follows the moon, as opposed to the sun: "Just as G-d showed Noah the rainbow as a sign of the covenant, G-d shows Moses the sliver of the new moon as a symbol of Israel's capacity for constant renewal (Hirsch)." What a brilliant concept and explanation. So I have to wonder if this is why the Jewish calendar has persisted throughout all of these years, through the creation of the Gregorian calendar and the ever-changing calendar that we have today (I mean, if we can move Daylight Savings ..). How is it that we have managed to keep this calendar? It blows my mind at the persistence of our people, our traditions, our livelihood. The covenant, then, must surely be eternal. I see no other explanation for the continuity of the Jewish people! It's quite inspiring and motivating.

+ Ex. 12:24 "You shall observe this as an institution for all time" -- why do we no longer offer up the paschal sacrifice then? I think that my questioning of this at the time was quite juvenile. Tied to Temple worship, sacrificing was replaced by rabbinic Judaism at the Temple's destruction. There is a group -- the Samaritans -- that still fulfills the commandment of the paschal sacrifice, but the thing of it is, they aren't doing it in the Temple, and I'm pretty sure there are some halakhic issues involved. 

(Deleted portion, mostly because I have no idea what I was talking about!)

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Of course, if you'd like some more concrete, revealing, fascinating takes on this weeks Torah portion, I suggest you hit up Chabad.org, mostly because it's chock full of interesting bits about the portion. You can also find the portion with Rashi's commentary there, which I always appreciate. You can visit the OU.org website for parshah info, too.

We Apologize, But ...

Due to unforeseen events involving chaos, madness, and general academic ballyhoo, there will be no d'var Torah today. Stay tuned for a hopeful d'var on Sunday for this week's parshah, Va'eira. Everyone loves the plagues, so you can wait it out. Here's a preview of what's to come (I hope), thanks to BrickTestament.com.

Until then, shabbat shalom!

Back in the Saddle: Midrash!

I'm back to it. School starts tomorrow, and my first class is Wednesday morning. So, a pile of books at my side, I'm reading up on Talmud and Midrash and Hellenism and ... lots of relevant stuff. I've come across a few things and, being me, decided to share because I find them absolutely interesting. I hope you feel the same. Just as a note, midrash is sort of an explication on a verse or idea. If you think about it, gemara, the elaboration on the mishnah (Oral Torah) is a type of midrash, right? Right.

+ The moment we got to Israel last month on Birthright, exhausted from an 11-hour plane trip, we were bused to a nature preserve to plant trees. I'd forgotten the reason for doing this, the necessity for planting trees and the biblical explanation for why Israel is so big on the creation of forests and the growth of the tree population, until just now when I was reading in "Back to the Sources " a Midrashic explanation behind Leviticus 19:23, "...when you enter the land, you shall plant all manner of trees." Aha! There's the reason. The midrash, in turn, says that the reason for doing this first upon entering the land is to mimic or reenact G-d's work in the creation of the world. Brilliant! And here's my effort, I did as the Torah said (even if begrudgingly with exhaustion, bad hair, etc., heh).

Note the Barack'N in the Free World tee from KosherHam.com!

+ The second thing in this specific chapter on midrash that struck me discusses the people turning to the rabbis after terrible destruction, seeking guidance, and out of this being born midrashic texts, including Lamentations Rabbah. The following is an example from that text, where the "rabbis use the common comparison of the Torah to a marriage contract (ketubah in Hebrew as a means of offering hope to a people in despair."

"This I recall to mind, therefore I have hope." -- Lam. 3.21

R. Abba b. Kahana said: This may be likened to a king who married a lady and wrote her a large ketubah: "so many state-apartments I am preparing for you, so many jewels I am preparing for you, and so much silver and gold I give you."

The king left her and went to a distant land for many years. Her neighbors used to vex her saying, "Your husband has deserted you. Come and be married to another man." She wept and signed, but whenever she went into her room and read her ketubah she would be consoled. After many years the king returned and said to her, "I am astonished that you waited for me all these years." She replied, "My lord king, if it had not been for the generous ketubah you wrote me then surely my neighbors would have won me over."

So the nations of the world taunt Israel and say, "Your God has no need of you; He has deserted you and removed His Presence from you. Come to us and we shall appoint commanders and leaders of every sort for you." Israel enters synagogues and houses of study and reads in the Torah, "I will look with favor upon you ... and I will not spurn you" (Lev. 26.9-11), and they are consoled.

In the future the Holy One blessed be He will say to Israel, "I am astonished that you waited for me all these years." And they will reply, "If it had not been for the Torah which you gave us ... the nations of the world would have led us astray." ... Therefore it is stated, "This do I recall and therefore I have hope." (Lam. 3.21)

Wow. Brilliant, no? And appropriate for the current state of things. If ever one wonders if we've been abandoned, we merely return to this -- and to the Torah/covenant -- and know that it isn't so!

A Test of Faithfulness.

This week's parshah is the famed akeidah story -- Vayeira -- the binding of Isaac by Abraham. I'm not going to go into a gigantic d'var Torah, but I do want to say a few words.

The interesting thing about this situation is that people debate who failed G-d's test and who had true faithfulness to G-d: was it Isaac or Abraham? Did Isaac have faith that G-d would not allow his father to go through with the sacrifice? Or did Abraham have faith that G-d would not let him go through the sacrifice? At the same time, consider this: Did Abraham FAIL the test?

So here's my take: The Torah is written, as my professor likes to say, in the language of the people of the times. Ethical Monotheism -- what we know today as Judaism -- grew out of a slip away from pagan and cultic religions of the times. Human sacrifice was commonplace, and G-d was well aware of this. Thus, when this brilliant monotheism arose, G-d knew that the people Israel would need to remove themselves from the pagan rituals of the day. Thus, in this case, G-d tells Abraham to sacrifice his son, Isaac, and Abraham -- not having fully grasped the concept of what G-d was shooting for when it came to the monotheism and not needing pagan rituals -- went along wholeheartedly with the plan. Isaac, on the other hand, knew what was going on. He had faith that G-d would keep Abraham from going through with it. At the same time, both G-d and Isaac hoped that Abraham would catch the drift that with G-d's way, human sacrifice wasn't an imperative. Unfortunately, Abraham failed the test and G-d had to stop him from going through with it. Talk about an interesting situation.

Of course, this is just my take. What the implications of Abraham's failure with G-d are, I cannot say right now. If anything, it was just the first in many missteps of the people while trying to get the hang of the non-pagan, ethical monotheism slant, which to be honest they didn't seem to pick up on until well into Isaiah (even Jethro tells Moses that his G-d is the greatest of all G-ds -- the Tanakh is peppered with monolatry!).

At any rate, Shabbat Shalom to one and all! May it be restful, thoughtful, and be shared with friends and family over good food and good stories.

Go Forth!

Amid the chaos of the day, there must be a little peace. Thank G-d, therefore, that this week's parshah is my defining parshah -- Lech Lecha.

The great thing about this parshah -- the namesake for which decorates my signature on my emails -- is it's opening message: "Go forth." I blogged about this portion last year on JewsbyChoice.org , of which I was once a contributor. The Midrash tells us that this line means "Go forth to find your authentic self, to learn who you are meant to be." That is, indeed, what Abraham and Sarah did, and it's most definitely what the convert does. Thus, for me, it's such a powerful, powerful portion.

Another great thing about this week's portion? My friends, Stereo Sinai (that's Mirriam and Jay) back in Chicago were awesome and did up this week's G-dCast.com video! It's beautiful, and poetic, with the singing and the music illustrating the portion. Watch it, take it in, and then go visit Stereo Sinai and pick up some of their tunes -- they are a truly talented duo, in more ways than one!


Parshat Lech Lecha from g-dcast on Vimeo.

"Light is Hidden Away for the Righteous Ones"

This week, we begin the cycle of Torah reading all over again with the first parshah: Bereshit. So it says "In the beginning ..." I've blogged in the past I do believe about this portion, and it's one of my favorites. It's not just because there's this freshness about starting the year again, reliving the steps of the words of Torah year after year, but also because of how it begins. The entire Torah starts off with the letter bet, which looks like this:

What's so special about this? The rabbis and sages taught that this beginning letter serves a special purpose, considering one might suspect that TaNaKh would begin with an aleph to follow some type of higher principle. Because Hebrew is written right to left, we are taught (via Midrash Bereshit Rabbah) that just as the bet is closed on the top and at the sides, you are not to investigate what is below, what is above, or what comes before -- rather, you must investigate and seek out what is in front.

Some other suggested takes on the use of bet as the first letter of Torah? One sage thought it was because the letter bet connotes power because of the force of the air (ruach) being spoken forth, and another thought that by starting with a bet rather than an aleph, the almighty was in effect revealing that man did not know the first principles about creation (I kind of like this one). Also, for more on this topic, check out Ilana-Davita's blog post on the same topic!

I won't get into a long discussion about the parshah itself, because I'm offering up this stellar new video series called G-dcast , which throws up a new animated piece of the series every Monday. This week's piece features Rabbi Lawrence Kushner and discusses the purpose of "light" in this week's portion and why we have two creations of light in the first creation story of Genesis 1. It's really a fascinating and cool little animated video. Give it a go, will you?


G-dcast: Parshat Bereshit from g-dcast on Vimeo.