Parashah – Page 4 – Jewish Relationships Initiative

Finding Relevance in Eikev

Robin Williams’ untimely passing touched the hearts of many of us. He touched our hearts because we had a personal connection. His gifts of comedy and acting his brilliant artistry found a way into each of us. And now we lament his passing on a personal level.

My father died about the time that Debbie Friedman passed away. Debbie was an iconic figure. Her passing created a tragic sense of personal loss in the Jewish community. And as deeply as I cared for Debbie, I was more focused on the loss of my dad. It was then that I noticed how we routinely find some losses to deeply affect us and others devolve from a human connection to a mere statistic.

This approach to death is a coping mechanism; If each death affected us deeply, we would be overwhelmed by the emotions and paralyzed. The mind and heart do what they need to do in order for us to move on about our lives. But beneath this, for those who are lost, what do they leave behind?

This is the question I find myself asking about Moses in the Torah portion Eikev. Moses is the iconic humble servant. And yet, in this portion, Moses repeats several times that it was because of what he did that saved the people from oblivion. Moses’ humility moves to the background as the need to be relevant takes over.

Might Moses be scared? He is the last of his generation, the generation that was to completely perish before the people would enter the Promised Land. Might Moses be scared that he would fade into oblivion, and be a simple footnote to history? The extraordinary experiences of creating a nation over the past 40 years might be obscured while the people are so focused on moving forward into the promise that the future holds.

History and our entire tradition holds Moses up as the great leader and teacher. We still recall Moshe Rabeinu with awe as we retell the stories of his life inextricably bound to the unfolding of our people’s destiny. But Moses did not know that at the time. In this, his second discourse, Moses knows the end is drawing near. In the remaining time left to him, Moses struggles to share the highlights of forging of a rag-tag group of slaves into B’nei Israel, about to enter and conquer the Land. He can hope that his entire life’s work means something to those he has shepherded. But it is only his hope that they will remember him, embraced his teachings and teach the generations to come; that they will become the people who God has offered as possible. Yes Moses, we did hear and we did learn and we are still struggling to achieve the vision set before us.

For our elders, this might explain the strident moments in your conversations with your children. For our children, this might offer insight into the motivations of your parents. Knowing this might help us to better understand the personal connection between parent and child. We will feel the loss when our parents are gone. But we can share and appreciate the wisdom of our elders now, while they are present in our lives.

Listen

Listen. The word occurs over and over. “Listen to me”, “Hear this,” I heard that”, “Shema Yisrael Adonai Elohaynu, Adonai Echad.”

The portion tells us to listen. But how do we listen when we ourselves need to be heard?

Moses recounts the story of Meribah and shares his truth; he is punished on account of the people, Lmanchem— because of you. That is not the story we read in Exodus. But that is how Moses remembers, and that is how he shares. That is Moses’ story. So how do we reconcile two different recountings of the same events?

This is the story currently underway in Israel. Our narrative is of a proud miraculous nation forged from nothing against all odds. Theirs is a very different story. Both share many of the same facts. How do we hear a truth that is so different from the one we know? How can we hear the truth of another, if we are caught up in our own narrative and our own need to be heard?

If we are to someday reconcile and create an opportunity for two people to coexist, we must listen. We must try to understand the retelling of the story in a different way while maintaining and building our story.

Once again the fragile truce has been shattered. And it is all but impossible to step back enough to gain the perspective that is needed to move beyond this time of war. But somewhere down the line, as we insist that “they” must listen to us, we too must somehow also listen to “them.”

Let us continue to work for a day when peace may come.

Shabbat Shalom

A Quest for Meaning

In Naso, we are introduced to the Nazir. A Nazir is one who purposefully separates himself or herself of the community by abstaining from certain luxuries or conventions, taking a vow as part of a spiritual search. This is the issue of the individual’s quest for meaning.

We see the idea of a vow as a chance to be in closer communion with God. It is an extraordinary commitment as the individual, man or woman, commits to refraining from some basic of things. This particular vow seems to contradict the idea that we are in community; the Nazir does things that by their nature separates him/her from societal norms: The Nazir does not drink, does not cut his/her hair, not to be near the dead, even including those for whom even a Kohen would. At the end of the vow’s timeframe, the Nazir brings a sacrifice as a Sin offering and a second as an offering of well-being signaling the vow is now concluded and fulfilled.

Once the Nazir has made the appropriate sacrifices, Aaron blesses the people with the Priestly blessing. This is as though through the process the Nazir endures in the sacred separating and the sacred re-joining, the whole people become worthy of God’s blessings.

Like the Nazir we too try to find meaning in our lives. We reflect and act to give life purpose. The path we walk in that process can be difficult and often lonesome. We might find a need to separate ourselves from those we love or things that are familiar in order learn and grapple with the hard questions we confront in our lives. We do things that set us apart, not unlike the Nazir. However, our tradition teaches are not hermits or ascetics. Parashah Naso teaches that our path needs to lead us back to the community. When we return, we are changed and, we pray, better off for the journey. When we return and again become a participant in our community, we enrich our community as well.

We see this understanding of the Nazir play itself out all the time in our modern lives as well. Our young people for example, venture out from the family in their quest to find their paths, to challenge the paradigms they have learned in their youth and as they seek wisdom and growth. We call this going off to college. Our children leave us as adolescents and hopefully return as thoughtful young adults. In other even more noble pursuits, many of our best and brightest make a vow in the form of enlisting in the military to serve their country. The ideals they embrace they are willing to defend with their lives.

We give our young the best we can. And then they leave. We pray that they will be safe on the journey and return to us whole. Then we know that indeed The Eternal has blessed us and protected us and caused The Divine Countenance to shine upon us.

The Give and Take of Torah

Our sages impress on us that Shavuot is the time of the Giving of Torah. Giving and Receiving are seen as two separate acts. The Giving is important because it is a one-time event and it is in the Receiving of Torah that we experience ongoing revelation. However, I think it is more complicated than that. Both the Giving and the Receiving are inextricably bound together, two sides of the same coin. Both come with their own set of expectations and obligations.

Giving

A true gift is given freely and without strings attached. Like so many of us, I have commented in the aftermath of the giving of a gift, with the gift box open and wrapping paper strewn, that “If you don’t like it, you can always bring it back.” And that is true. I do not want a gift to be kept merely to keep from offending me. But whenever I give a gift, I select it thoughtfully and with care. I want the gift I am giving to convey the meaning and love with which it was given. And I also want it to be loved and enjoyed. So I rarely shop for Jewelry for my wife, unless I find something truly extraordinary that I know will fit her aesthetic sense.

Similarly, I believe the Gift of Torah is given with a similar intention. It is given as an extraordinary expression of love that God has for his people. And, if you will permit the anthropomorphism, I cannot help but think the Almighty would be crestfallen if we asked whether the receipt was still in the box somewhere. Torah was not given just as a something for us to have. It is to be a prized possession. It is the greatest gift of all, short of life itself arguably. There is an expectation and hope that we will embrace it fully and use it to guide our lives.

Matan Torateinu, the Giving of our Torah, is more than something given in love. This extraordinary act of Giving requires an equally extraordinary act of Receiving. Sadly Torah can be rejected and “returned” as it were. It can be ignored, or possibly worse, misused as a means to exert power or personal gain at the expense of others. All of us are diminished when one rejects Torah. Instead we hope to we turn it and turn it delving into its beauty and depth, revealing wisdom and ways for us to make meaning both in our relationship with God and in our relationships with each other.

Receiving

The Receiving of a gift is another matter. I recall my mom teaching me as a boy, that it was proper to receive gifts with graciousness and gratitude. The value of a gift lies in the intention with which it was given, not the price paid. So understanding how a gift is given is very important to the receiver. But what we actually do with the gift is up to us.

We determine how a gift is to be used. A gift can be placed on a shelf. It can be an object to be admired and appreciated. But without interaction, it often does little more than collect dust. Our willingness to engage it will determine how much it will mean to us. But we must decide how to do this. Even when the giver advises us how to use our gift, it is ultimately up to us.

And certainly when we do interact with it, the way we do it is also under our control, even when the gift is Torah. We can return to it regularly or sporadically, we can be ready to engage fully or we could be more nonchalant, ready to pick up where we left off or to start afresh, we can be literal or figurative in interpretation. We can plumb its depth and seek ways that it speaks to us and guides us. It is said that when a piece of art or great literature leaves its creator, it becomes that which the recipient decides it will become. All the more so Torah; for Torah is the supreme such work and yet still can only have as much meaning as we are willing to impart to it.

I recall a Midrash spinning a story about the moment the people received Torah. God lifts the mountain and suspends it over B’nei Yisrael by a thread. The people are told they have a choice to accept or reject Torah. But if they reject Torah, God will let go. I actually prefer to understand the story another way. The gift of Torah is the thread itself. The world, as the mountain, can be harsh and cruel and the weight of the world can be crushing. Torah gives us the ability to live under the reality that is our world and keep it from destroying us, instead giving us the opportunity for a full and meaningful existence. Torah is the ultimate lifeline.

In this case, both the receiving and the giving are dynamic. We are always in the process of receiving, and arguably God is also always in the process of giving. The Torah writ large is a living work, continuing to expand and evolve. Both giver and receiver are actively involved in the process. Both are intimately involved in the give and take.

So how do we do justice to the gift of Torah?

For one thing, it is to embrace it with vigor to engage it and find how it speaks to us in ways that can affect our lives. How do we grapple and test and probe with a sense of reverence and gratitude that comes from knowing Torah is given in love and the giver hopes that this priceless gift will be used for all its worth.

Forever Changed- Relationships through the lens of Ki Tisa

Experience forever changes who we are, what we are, particularly when it is an encounter with another. Each of us can think of a person who has had a profound impact on our lives, and usually impact is based on one select memory we have of our experiences with them. The experiences of this week’s Torah Portion, Ki Tisa illustrates the indelible impact of the encounter with God.

We struggle with God and the Divine presence. God chastises us for abandoning God by demanding and worshipping the Golden Calf. But doesn’t God deserve it? As we retell the story every Pesach, God “remembered” us and “with a strong hand and outstretched arm” redeemed us out from the land of Egypt. But just one question, “Where was God for past 400 years, while we suffered in slavery?” From our historical perspective it is a great story from which we make all kinds of meaning. But if you were the “average Yehuda,” living in Egypt before the redemption, you suffered as a slave, plain and simple.

So possibly, we remained a bit skeptical of God and this freedom stuff and we needed constant reassurances that it really was not merely smoke and mirrors, or in this case pillars of smoke and fire. And when Moses, our leader left us and did not return when he promised, we panicked. We reverted to the familiar stuff that comforted for generations. We went for the Golden Calf! Forgive us our weakness, but recent miracles not withstanding, we were not getting the “warm and fuzzies” standing in the desert at the foot of a mountain with both our God and our Moses nowhere to be found. We were scared and felt abandoned.

And of course, God sees this and is deeply offended by our fickle actions; for the Divine Presence is actively sharing Torah with Moses so that Moses can bring it back to the people. They are engaged in a deep communion. The people however don’t know that and react badly. God does know that, and arguably He reacts badly too.

God wants to wipe out the ingrates and start anew. He tells Moses that He will make a whole new people from Moses and these will be the new loyal and chosen people. It is Moses who stops God and persuades the Almighty that the existing people are indeed those with whom He is in Covenant, a sacred bond that cannot be irrevocably broken because of the bad actions in a moment. God is persuaded by Moses’ argument, but God’s relationship to the people is changed. God suggests that He will dispatch an Angel to lead them forward from Sinai. God is no longer interested in personally leading these people. Moses must use his powers of persuasion yet again to get God to amend this attitude.

As Moses helps God in God’s time of need, so too God helps Moses. For when Moses sees for himself the betrayal of the people and the great sin of the Golden Calf, Moses, to use common parlance, “loses it.” He smashes the two sacred tables given to him by God, and heads back up the mountain to suggest that God’s original suggestion was not so bad after all. Let’s start over! This time it is God who must talk Moses off the ledge. But Moses is also forever changed by this encounter. Torah speaks of Moses descending with light radiating from his face, so much so that Moses wears a veil whenever he appears before the people. The only time we are told Moses removes his veil is when he talks to God. This Midrash confirms the relationship is irrevocable altered. Moses still loves the people and remains their committed leader throughout the wandering in the desert. But the relationship is now different from what it was before.

The relationship between God and Moses is one from which we can learn and draw great meaning.

God and Moses play off each other. Both God and Moses need a partner, a sounding board to help them through. Each keeps the other in check so that one does not to fly off the handle acting rashly or precipitously in the moment in a way that would irrevocably damage another. How important is this lesson for us. To ask for help in getting perspective, not letting ego or hurt or pain cause an outburst or reaction. To consider and cogitate, dispassionately considering what really is the best course of action given the circumstances we confront.

Who gives you this kind of non-judgmental, unconditional support that you need? Do you have the security of a relationship where you can expose your true self and your true feelings without fear of harsh judgment or repercussions? Is there someone, or might you find that in your relationship with God. It can be your love, your friend, your rabbi or possibly a colleague such as my rabbi. How much better off would we be if were to think before we were to act, to measure what we do by the standard of what is best for all those involved, rather than to let ego dictate a reaction that gives us satisfaction in the moment but leaves a path of hurt or destruction in its wake?

Cain yehi ratzon May this be God’s will.

Shabbat Shalom

Does He or Doesn’t She? Some Thoughts about God, Me and the SuperBowl

This Friday night we celebrate a very special Shabbat. Although each Shabbat is special, certain Shabbats are singled out for particular meaning in the Jewish calendar. There is Shabbat Shuvah, the Shabbat between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, Shabbat HaGadol, the Shabbat leading to Passover, Shabbat Shirah, the Shabbat where we sing of crossing the Reed Sea, to name but three of them. Friday, January 31^st, we celebrate Shabbat Super Bowl.

Super Bowl Sunday is Feb 2^nd 2014. Does God actually play a role in the Super bowl?

There is much debate in America as to whether God plays a role in the Super bowl. According to a new survey from the Public Religion Research Institute, “half of American Sports fans say they believe God or a supernatural force is at play in the games they watch.” This includes 26% of Americans who pray directly to God to help their team, 25% of Americans who believe their team is cursed and approximately 19% of Americans who believe God is involved in who wins the game. This raises some very interesting questions: What is the nature of the God you believe in?

How do we understand God? What role does God play in our lives?

If a disaster looms, do we thank God that we were spared from the hurricane (even though the guys that were nailed were not quite so lucky)? If we get sick, do we pray for God to make us well?

I believe the adage “there are no atheists in foxholes.” When your life is at stake, you grab on to anything that might be a lifeline. And foxholes are metaphoric as well as literal. Each of us will face trials and tribulations in our lives. It is then that we need something to hold onto, an anchor, a rock a something that says we will survive this, because regardless of whether we want it or not, misfortune will surely strike. We do not control the event, but we can control how we get through it and how we carry on after it is over.

So where and how do you find God?

As I sought to answer this question, I found some incredible, astounding and sobering statistics: The Department for Veteran’s Affairs reports than an estimated 48,000 veterans are homeless or at risk for becoming homeless. As of the end of last year, the number of non-fatal casualties from Afghanistan and Iraq surpassed the grim milestone of one million. Over 270,000 brain injuries have been diagnosed including traumatic brain injuries and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. These are forbidding statistics. But there is an important point that is tragically lost in these statistics.

These are human beings who are suffering. They are not nameless things, but rather, they are people, people who feel sadness, pain and anguish. These are the people our prophets seek to protect when they call out to us. For far too long we have not felt a personal connection to these individual people. We have let the impersonal Government take care of the nameless masses. But it is for us, however, to look at them as our brothers and sisters, members of our American family. These are the distinct brave men and women like veteran ranger Sergeant First Class Cory Remsburg who appeared at the State of the Union Address earlier this week. Sergeant First Class Cory Remsburg served his country heroically with a valor and devotion that goes beyond the comprehension of most of us. And Cory Remsberg will spend the rest of his life dependent upon the love and support of all of us as he struggles to recover from devastating injuries.

We are taught, “Kol Yisrael arevim zeh bazeh.” We are all responsible for each other. This is the charge from our God to each and every one of us, that it is our sacred obligation to protect the vulnerable. We are commanded to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, shelter the homeless, and safeguard the widow and the orphan. It is here that we can find our God. For when we reach out to another, God is in that sacred space.

We learn about God’s sacred space in this week’s Torah portion Terumah. Here are the intricate details of building God’s house in the Midbar. The Mishkan is a moveable structure that the Israelites carry with them on their travels through the Wilderness. And if we take this passage as metaphor, essentially we learn in this parshah that God is with us wherever we may go. God Himself teaches us one of the core messages of Torah. As we are taught to build the Ark of the Covenant, two Cherubim are placed on top of the Ark with facing each other with arms outstretched. And God then says, “Here I will meet with you.” (Ex 25:22). That, in other words, God is found in the place we come into relationship with each other.

So let me return to the original question, “Does God influence the Super Bowl?” “God Knows,” but I do not. I am sure that there is a facet of God that enjoys a good contest, revels in positive human competition, and even enjoys a good burger. Should we invite Him to the Tailgating party? Would that unduly influence the Almighty or perhaps might He just enjoy the sweet savor of something hot off the grill?

But the real question remains: “How can you find God’s presence in your daily life?” And the answer to that question might be that maybe God does indeed have the capacity to influence everything in our lives if only we reached out to others and opened ourselves up to the possibility.

Shabbat Shalom

I will not let you go until you have blessed me.

In the dark solitude of night Jacob wrestles with an unidentified man until dawn, but would not let him go, even after he appears to vanquish his opponent. Although the text says it was a man, the figure is mysterious and might have been an angel of God or possibly a demon from Jacob’s psyche.

This remarkable story speaks to how we might make something good come from the troublesome or even the tragic event; for Jacob would not let go until he received a blessing. Instead of fleeing, as Jacob has in the past, Jacob only grapples with it. Acknowledging this event is now a part of him, Jacob holds on. Jacob emerges from the scuffle physically injured, forever changed. But he still insists that something good comes of the encounter a blessing.

So many of us confront tragedy in our lives. And despite the pain and the suffering tragedy causes, people often turn it in order to make something good as a result. For example, the founders of Mothers Against Drunk Driving, MADD, were able to take the unspeakable horror of losing their children and create a crusade to save the children of others. Veronique Pozner, recently named as one of the Forward 50, lost her 6-year-old son Noah in Newtown and transformed her personal tragedy and grief into a rallying cry for gun control legislation in Connecticut.

We are forever changed as a result of the harsh tests in our lives. For Jacob, his hip was damaged and his name changed to always reflect that the event had irrevocably altered him. Nothing will bring the lost children back to their mothers. Noah will never return to Veronique, but she celebrates his brief life, by working to create a better world. May we all find the strength to do so.

~Thoughts on Vayishlach

The need for connection runs deep

Toledot, last week’s Torah portion, holds one of the most poignant moments in the entire Tanakh for me. The story of Esau before his father is heart wrenching. We know that Esau sold his birthright to his brother for a bowl of stew and that Jacob completed the deed by deceiving his father into giving him the blessing. But I cannot help but feel a profound empathy for Esau’s anguish.

There Esau stands, this strong brute of a man, sobbing before his father beseeching him: Is there nothing left for me? Can I not also have your blessing? This is more than a demand for his portion of the family wealth. This is the yearning human need to belong. There is the deep heartfelt desire to believe that there is love enough in his father’s heart to share a blessing, a hope an aspiration for something that is Esau’s inheritance from his father. The best Isaac could muster was that Esau would be free of his brother’s dominance only when Esau moved away. And so an estrangement began so brutal in its nature, that Jacob fled and when the brothers next meet twenty years later, Jacob still fears for his life.

When our father died, my brother and sister and I respectfully shared the material possessions that remained. My brother took a desk that he always loved and I took the vanity mirror that sat on my dad’s dresser since he was a boy. But I think the blessing that my father left my brother was his knowledge that he was dad’s primary caregiver and their bond grew very strong and close. For me it was the knowledge that this new path I embarked upon into the rabbinate was a source of pride and admiration. These are the truly valuable legacies that will remain with us.

May we always find that our inner wellspring of love and compassion is never exhausted. May we always have something to give to those seeking our love and support, even when it is challenging. May we learn from Isaac that there is a better and more empathetic way to embrace another.

Go Forth, But not Alone

Lech Lecha

I had the privilege of officiating at the funeral and first evening Shiva Minyan of a lovely man. It came time to share a D’var Torah during the Minyan and I spoke to Lech Lecha, our Parashah and God’s command to Abraham to “Go Forth- to a land that I will show you.” The Hebrew is in the singular, in other words God is speaking directly to Abraham, instructing him what to do. As we learn in the story, Abraham does indeed venture out from his father’s house and into history, becoming our Patriarch, a father to those as numerous as the stars. Abraham did need to respond to God’s challenge, but he was not alone.

Sarah was Abraham’s wife and partner. Although God does tell Abraham to “Go forth,” Sarah stood by his side throughout the process. The two of them acted together. And there is significance in that. As I ruminated over the circumstances in which my D’var Torah would be shared, I wondered if in fact the beautiful story of my friend, as related to me by his widow, was a representation of what Abraham and Sarah experienced. It takes an extraordinary person to embark on an extraordinary venture. But would he or she have the courage to do it without the love and support of a trusted partner? Could someone reach for the stars without a companion to provide strength, someone willing to walk with you by your side? And even if a person were capable of achieving “greatness” without any one else’s support, could such a person be the progenitor of a people?

I believe the answer is no. And herein lies a teaching of our Torah portion. We cannot achieve true greatness without the support of others. One can achieve, but without others to share and give strength, the venture is selfish. Lech Lecha, you must do it but you cannot do it alone.

Enduring Life lessons come from how we live- A message from Nitzavim

If you could choose your last words or final deeds, what would they be?

In Nitzavim, the portion we are about to read, Moses uses his final moments to share his parting thoughts with us– the final words that will linger in the hearts and minds of those there after he is gone.

Choose life. It is here. It is now. But the truth of it is, we really do not know for how long. As we read in the Unataneh Tokef prayer, death comes in many forms, and we have been rather creative in coming up with a list. We can only hope and pray for life and health. But deep down, we all know that inevitable end of our physical life lurks waiting.

I have had occasion to be with a family who knew death was coming. The mother had some months to prepare; her cancer would not be stopped. I was with a family where the death of the father was completely unexpected. A massive coronary took him in the middle of is regular bike ride with his wife.

Perhaps you might think that the first instance is easier. You know it is coming, you can say goodbye, settle your affairs; prepare those you will leave behind. Whereas when someone is taken in a moment, there is and no time at all. It is abrupt and harsh.

The truth is that no matter how you might try to prepare, it is merely an intellectual exercise. Emotionally the pain of loss is just as jarring and real in the moment it comes. So if we do not know the how or the when of it, you might be wondering if what I am talking about isn’t itself just an intellectual exercise. How is it possible to plan when we don’t know how to measure what is left in days or in years?

We have the opportunity to impart our final words through both words and deeds every single day. Truth be told, we do not share our final message in the final moments of our lives. That is not the time. It is hard to think clearly, if you wrote it down, you likely you left it in your desk in another room, or your glasses are upstairs, so you cannot read your notes anyway!

There is a Midrash about Jacob on his deathbed, surrounded by his children, wondering if he left them with the truly important lessons. They responded with “Shema Israel, Adonai Eloheynu, Adonai echad” Hear oh Israel the Lord our God the Lord is one. Given that Jacob’s name was changed to Israel, an alternative translation might be:

“Dad, you taught us your lesson well and we heard you.”

I met an extraordinary man during an overnight rotation working as a hospital chaplain. I went to Jim’s room intending to console a grieving family. But consolation was not going to happen. Jim was an organ donor and the Gift of Life team was preparing to bring life to several people who would benefit from Jim’s heart, lungs, liver and even his corneas. The people at Jim’s bedside were celebrating the man who continued to live and embody the ideals that made him beloved even after he was gone.

Similarly, the funeral for our friend on his bike was a celebration of his life. Each eulogy lovingly shared the joy of being counted as a friend. And the woman, who had the time to prepare; that was my mom. And I try to live by her values that still live inside me.

Moses is about to tell us, “Lo BaShamiyim hi!” It is not in the heavens, or someplace else out of reach, like your desk drawer. We revere Moses not for his parting words alone, but for the gifts he gave us throughout his life. And likewise for us, it is in the things we say and do everyday that makes the difference and endures as our legacy.

Moses words still ring true; Not only is it completely within our grasp, it starts the moment we decide it to be so. Let that time be now. Take the hand of the person sitting next to you, whether it is someone you know or a complete stranger. Take their hand for just a moment, look at them and smile, and together let us listen to the words of Nitzavim.