Category Archives: Divrei Torah

High Holiday Sermon Themes 5775 — The Meaning of Love – The State of the Jewish World – Soul Hunger – Never Forgetting

06 Monday Oct 2014

Posted by in American Jewish Life, American Politics and Life, Divrei Torah, Ethics, Holidays, Israel and Palestine, Israel/Zionism, Jewish History, Jewish Identity, Musings about God/Faith/Religious life, Stories

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I have posted the four sermons I delivered on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur this season at Temple Israel of Hollywood. For those interested, they may be accessed by clicking the titles below:

Their titles and themes are:

“Love is the Only Road” – Erev Rosh Hashanah – I consider the many kinds of love and the yearning to belong that animates all. I focus on two powerful true stories that evoke what is core to the human condition.

“For Jews Despair is Not An Option” – Shacharit Rosh Hashanah – I consider four themes – Post-Gaza War – The Rise in anti-Semitism in Europe and Scandinavia – The Rise in Extremism, Racism and Hate within Israel and the American Jewish Community – And our Relationship as American Jews to the State of Israel.

“For What Do Our Souls Really Hunger?” – Kol Nidre – Reflections on Judaism’s understanding of what constitutes wisdom, strength, wealth, and honor in contemporary American western culture and thoughts about what the human soul really craves.

“Why I Don’t Want to Die” – Yizkor – Based on a conversation with my 97 year-old mother who is legally blind, nearly deaf and suffering from dementia but at times lucid enough to express her deepest fear in dying.

 

 

 

Deferments in Battle and Ultimate Purposes – D’var Torah Shoftim

29 Friday Aug 2014

Posted by in American Jewish Life, Divrei Torah, Ethics, Health and Well-Being, Israel and Palestine, Israel/Zionism, Jewish History, Jewish Identity, Musings about God/Faith/Religious life

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There are three deferments allowed soldiers going into battle according to this week’s Torah portion, Shoftim (see Deuteronomy 20:5-8).

If a person has built a new house and not yet dedicated it, planted a vineyard and not yet harvested it, or paid the bridal price for a wife and not yet married her, the individual may be excused from fighting a war.

I asked a former Israeli officer in the Navy Seals what deferments or accommodations the IDF allows its soldiers. He explained that even before young Israelis turn 18 years old, from about the age of 16, young people are tested to determine many things, including their intellectual aptitude, emotional disposition and physical capacities so that by the time they reach the draft age, the IDF is able to direct them appropriately, as soldiers destined for battle, as officers, as intelligence specialists, and a myriad of other duties that the IDF needs fulfilled. People with serious physical or emotional disabilities are excused. Religious students are also excused per agreement with the ultra-Orthodox religious parties, but that is beginning to change.

The question for us relative to the Torah portion this week is this – ‘What links the un-dedicated house, the non-harvested vineyard, and the not-yet-married groom? The answer includes both practical and religious concerns.

An effective soldier cannot be distracted while in battle, and both uncontrolled fear (see Deuteronomy 20:1-4) or distractions such as these three deferments were understood to limit the soldier’s effectiveness. Though every soldier, ancient and modern, is frightened when going into battle, Israeli soldiers understand that Israel cannot afford ever to lose a war. If it does, the soldier knows that his/her family and friends are in danger of losing their lives and everything that the Jewish people has worked so hard to build in the state of Israel will be destroyed.

Rabbi Matthew Berkowitz, in a JTS commentary (August 26, 2006), wrote that the religious concern at the basis for these deferments involves ways in which Jews sanctify life. Judaism calls one’s home a mik’dash m’at, a small sanctuary (reflective of the Beit haMik’dash – the Temple in Jerusalem), a sacred space in which God’s presence abides and the inhabitants are inspired to live lives of higher meaning and purpose.

One’s vineyard produces the wine or grape juice used to sanctify Shabbat and the holidays; in other words, the sanctification of time.

And one’s marriage reminds us of the first commandment in Torah, p’ru ur’vu (Genesis 1:28), to be fruitful and multiply; that is, our obligation to bring forward the next generation of Jews and sanctify the future.

Though family is defined in the Bible narrowly, it is important for modern Jews to embrace family in much larger and more expansive ways, that those who may not marry or have children of their own can nevertheless impact the future of our community in many significant ways; as teachers, health care workers, big brothers and sisters, favorite uncles and aunts. They can work on behalf of the elderly, act politically to assure the quality of life for the most vulnerable in our community, use one’s business and financial resources to bring comfort, solace, compassion, and justice into our community affairs.

The sanctification of space – the sanctification of time – the sanctification of the future – all are fundamental Jewish values brought forth through the generations since the earliest stages in Jewish history.

This is the first Shabbat in the Hebrew month of Elul that precedes Rosh Hashanah, and so it is a time for us to begin to ask ourselves questions such as these:

How do we sanctify space, time and the future?

How do we define a life based in meaning and blessing?

In what ways are we sanctifying our lives and the lives of others?

What tasks have we completed that have brought a great sense of holiness into our lives, our families and friends, our community, people and nation?
These are all worth pondering now as we move closer to the High Holidays.

Shabbat shalom.

What it Means to Be the Seed of Abraham

15 Friday Aug 2014

Posted by in American Jewish Life, Divrei Torah, Ethics, Health and Well-Being, Israel and Palestine, Israel/Zionism, Jewish History, Jewish Identity

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In last week’s and this week’s Torah readings the Israelites are told what they are to do when they enter the land promised to Abraham; namely, to dislodge every people and nation living there, to defeat and destroy them, to grant them no terms, give them no quarter, and feel no pity – to obliterate their sacred places, to consign their idols to fire, and wipe them out utterly and completely.

As Ekev begins this week we read of the blessings that will come from these multiple acts of violence against the indigenous and idolatrous peoples that the Israelites encountered.

Thankfully, this excessive militancy is balanced by the attribute of compassion elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible and throughout rabbinic tradition. Our sages teach, in fact, that if there is too much harsh judgment and too little compassion the world will be destroyed, just as too much empathy and too few just standards will sink the world into chaos. A proper balance between din and rachamim is therefore essential to the survival and well-being of the community itself.

The Sefer Hachinukh says that “kindness and mercy are among the most worthy qualities in the world…[and if someone would…] teach himself to be cruel he would attest about himself that he is not a Jew, for we are rachmanim b’nai rachmanim – compassionate children of compassionate parents.” (Mishpatim 42, based on the Bavli, Kiddushin 4a)

The Zohar emphasizes this virtue when it says that Jacob became Yisrael after his struggle at the river Jabbok only in order to attach himself to the quality of compassion. (1:174a) The Talmud is categorical – “One who shows no compassion, it is known that he is not of the seed of Abraham.” (Bavli, Beitzah 32b)

In a recent essay, Rabbi David Seidenberg wrote:

“Hamas members, being Muslim, are also of the seed of Abraham. That Hamas has been hiding rockets in schools, daring Israel to fire on places that should be safe. That Hamas used concrete to build miles of tunnels and no public bomb shelters. And that Hamas’ lack of compassion, to their own people and to Israeli civilians, shows that they are neither true Muslims, nor of the spiritual seed of Abraham.”

We Jews, of course, have our own hard-hearted fanatics who care little about others and certainly little about the innocent Palestinians who have been caught tragically in the cross-fire and suffered.

Three weeks ago, Rabbi Dov Lior, a leading West Bank rabbi in the settlement of Kiryat Arba who had written a book justifying the killing of non-Jews, issued a religious ruling saying that Jewish law permits the destruction of Gaza to keep southern Israel safe, and that the army may “take crushing deterring steps to exterminate the enemy.” (Jewish Telegraphic Agency – July 24, 2014).

This Jewish version of a fatwa is shocking in and of itself, and when he added the word “exterminate,” given our own Jewish experience in the Holocaust, it is doubly disturbing and reprehensible.

In response, Meretz party leader Zahava Gal-On asked Israel’s Attorney General to launch an investigation against Lior for incitement.

Another hareidi rabbi, Yisroel Yitzchok Kalmanovitz, of the fanatical Lithuanian Jerusalemite sect, turned his hard-heartedness not on Hamas fighters, as one might expect, but on non-religious Israeli soldiers saying that it is better for them to die in Gaza as “martyrs” than it is for them to lie and continue to sin.

At the same time, I was relieved to see many hareidi Jews prayed for the welfare of all our soldiers in this war.

For us, the question must always be – ‘how does the tension between judgment and compassion play out in our hearts, in our relationships with those near and dear to us, with friends, co-workers and colleagues, with our community, with the stranger, and even with our legitimate enemies?’

The famous midrash from the Passover Seder is a reminder of what tradition requires of us – to mourn even when our enemies perish, and to open the heart to all human suffering whether it be in southern Israel, Gaza, the West Bank, Iraq, Afghanistan, Syria, the Congo, Sudan, or on the streets of Hollywood.

The way we answer that question and the way we open our hearts to others will determine not just the nature of our Jewishness but of our humanity.

Shabbat shalom!

“Enough of blood and tears. Enough!”

02 Wednesday Jul 2014

Posted by in American Jewish Life, Divrei Torah, Ethics, Israel and Palestine, Israel/Zionism, Jewish History, Jewish Identity, Social Justice

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The murders of three Israeli teens, Eyal Yifrach, Gil’ad Sha’ar and Naftali Fraenkel have plunged the Jewish world into despair, sadness and mourning. It is as if for Jews these boys were members of our extended family and we are diminished by their deaths.

Remarkably, the family of Naftali Fraenkl said after the death of their son and in response to the murder of a 16 year-old Palestinian teen, Muhammad Hussein Abu Khdeir:

“There is no difference between blood and blood. Murder is murder, whatever the nationality and age. There is no justification, no forgiveness and no atonement for any kind of murder.”

Their response, tragically, is not shared universally by Jews.

Yesterday morning the body of Muhammad was found in a Jerusalem forest, and police have now arrested six Jewish extremists who have conducted a revenge-killing.

Hundreds of Jewish rioters also took to the streets of the East Jerusalem neighborhood of Shuafat screaming “revenge” and “death to Arabs.”

Israel, of course, must seek justice for all these four murders, but for Israel indiscriminately to punish the Palestinians as a people, as some right-wing Knesset members and settlers are calling upon Israel to do, is not only contrary to Jewish values and morally wrong, but beneath the dignity of the Jewish people.

Prime Minister Rabin had it right in 1993 on the White House lawn, and I believe that this is a critical time to recall his words. He said:

“Let me say to you, the Palestinians: We are destined to live together, on the same soil in the same land. We, the soldiers who have returned from battle stained with blood, we who have seen our relatives and friends killed before our eyes, we who have attended their funerals and cannot look into the eyes of their parents, we who have come from a land where parents bury their children, we who have fought against you, the Palestinians – we say to you today in a loud and clear voice: Enough of blood and tears. Enough!

We have no desire for revenge. We harbor no hatred towards you. We, like you, are people who want to build a home, to plant a tree, to love, live side by side with you – in dignity, in empathy, as human beings, as free men. We are today giving peace a chance and again saying to you: Let us pray that a day will come when we will say, enough, farewell to arms.”

The only way Israelis and Palestinians will successfully transform their shared history of blood and tears is to recognize the humanity of and the pain of the “other,” to condemn together the killing of innocents regardless of circumstances, as both PM Netanyahu and President Abbas did this week, to resist escalating this conflict, and to return to negotiations where they strive heroically and boldly as statesmen do to make painful compromises, and settle this conflict once and for all in a two states for two peoples agreement.

As they do so, they ought to deliberately and categorically isolate those who resist a peaceful negotiated solution and say to them as one voice that it is they, those who deny the inherent rights of the other, who are the real enemies of peace and the real enemies of the nation-state of the Jewish people and the nation-state of the Palestinian people.

In last week’s Torah portion, Chukat, God commanded Moses to speak to a rock when the Israelites complained of thirst, and God promised that water would pour forth and sate them. Moses, was weary, frustrated, angry, and worn-thin by years of their bickering. Instead of speaking to the rock, he struck it with his stick, and though water came forth, God punished him by refusing him entry into the Land of Promise. (Numbers 20:8-13)

The story reminds us of another very similar tale in the book of Exodus when Moses appealed to God for the first time when the people were thirsty. God told Moses to hit the rock with his stick. He did and water came forth and sated the people. (Exodus 17:2-6)

The difference in the two similar narratives is that one occurred before Mt. Sinai and the other after Sinai, as if to teach that God intended human history to change as a result of the covenant God forged with the people of Israel, that we would henceforth sanctify words and not weapons of violence, convert our swords into plowshares and our spears into pruning hooks, and to cease making war. Compassion and reason would replace hatred and force. Enlightened words would resolve conflict, and we would live then side by side in peace, justice and security.

Rabin’s call is still the call of the moment – “Enough of blood and tears. Enough!”

Hearing God’s Voice and the Importance of a Dot! – D’var Torah Naso

29 Thursday May 2014

Posted by in Divrei Torah, Ethics, Musings about God/Faith/Religious life

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“Va-y’hi b’yom kalot Moshe l’hakim et ha-mish’kan – On the day that Moses finished setting up the Tabernacle, he anointed and consecrated it and all its furnishings ….” (Numbers 7:1)

This final chapter of Parashat Naso then lists in detail the names of the tribes and their offerings, concluding in verse 89:

“When Moses went into the Tent of Meeting to speak with Him, he [Moses] would hear the Voice addressing him from above the cover that was on top of the Ark of the Pact between the two cherubim; thus He (God) spoke to him (Moses).”

All seems straightforward enough, but there’s an odd grammatical irregularity involving a single “dot” (called a dagesh) in one of the letters in one of the words in this final verse that doesn’t seem to belong.

The verb l’dabeir (Hebrew root – daled-bet-resh – “to speak”) appears three times in this verse:

“When Moses went into the Tent of Meeting to speak (L’da-beir) with Him [God], he [Moses] would hear the Voice addressing him (m’da-beir) from above the cover that was on top of the Ark of the Pact between the two cherubim [winged angels]; thus He (God) spoke (va-y’da-beir) to him (Moses).”

Grammarians teach that the verb “l’da-beir – to speak” is a piel construction. Every piel verb includes a dagesh (a dot) in the middle letter of the three-letter Hebrew root sometimes changing the sound of the letter and sometimes not – in this case the dagesh changes the vet to a bet. However, the verb m’da-beir as it appears here has two dageshim, one where we expect it (in the middle letter bet) and the other in the first letter of the three-letter root, daled, where we do NOT expect to see it.

A little thing; an insignificant thing not worth worrying about! Right!?

Not so fast. There are twenty such occurrences in the Hebrew Bible of a dagesh appearing in the first letter where it doesn’t normally belong, and in six of those times the dagesh is in this particular verb – daled-bet-resh. (Genesis 32:29, Exodus 34:33, 1 Samuel 25:17, 2 Samuel 14:13, and Psalms 34:14; 52:5. I am grateful to Rabbi Michael Curasick who pointed this out.)

What does this dagesh-dot indicate in our verse – m’da-beir? That’s the question, and as you will soon see, that little dot changes the meaning of the verse itself and shines a theological light on what might have really taken place between God and Moses in the Tent of Meeting.

Abraham ibn Ezra (11th century Spain) and Rashi (11th century France) both conclude that this verb m’da-beir is not in the piel verbal construction at all, but rather is a hit’pa-el verb, and so the dagesh in the first letter daled isn’t an emphasis mark but rather stands in for a missing letter – tav – making the original word not m’da-beir, but mit’da-beir.

Piel verbs tend to be active and intensive verbs – hit’pa-el verbs tend to be reflexive. If Ibn Ezra and Rashi are right, and it makes sense that they are given the twenty other occasions where this occurs and the special relationship between God and Moses, our verse doesn’t mean that “[God’s] voice spoke (m’da-beir) to Moses …” but rather “God was speaking to Himself and Moses overheard.” (Rashi)

Rabbi Bachya ben Asher (13th century Spain) explains further that God intended that the words He spoke in the tent of meeting were meant only for Moses to overhear, and that no one else, not Aaron, not any of the tribal chieftains could do so, thus demonstrating “the enormous spiritual stature of Moses compared to all other subsequent prophets…that Moses had attained the ultimate level of spirituality that is possible for a human being to attain while alive on earth.” (Rabbeinu Bachya, translated by Eliahu Munk, vol. 6, p. 1955)

Everett Fox (The Five Books of Moses – The Schocken Bible, Volume 1, p. 695) translates m’da-beir as a “voice continually-speaking,” as though Moses walked into the Tent and the radio was on all day long.

There are several lessons here for us?

First, none of us is a Moses, and whether or not we can hear God’s voice or not is irrelevant to the truth that God is “continually-speaking” not only in the Tent of Meeting, but everywhere.

Second, it is consequently upon us to strive always to evolve spiritually, to attune ourselves intently to every sound around us, however slight, to listen carefully for God’s voice in the multiplicity of ways that are possible, as well as to our own inner voice and to the voices of others.

And finally, hearing ourselves and hearing each other more acutely may be the path for us to be able to hear God’s voice too. After all, does not God’s voice speak through each one of us?

Shabbat shalom!

 

 

 

 

Erotic Poem, Intra-Divine Allegory – or Both?

18 Friday Apr 2014

Posted by in Beauty in Nature, Divrei Torah, Holidays, Inuyim - Prayer reflections and ruminations, Musings about God/Faith/Religious life, Poetry

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“The world is not as worthy as the day on which the Song of Songs was given to Israel, for all the writings are holy, but the Song of Songs is the Holy of Holies.”

So said Rabbi Akiva (2nd century Palestine), who believed that The Song of Songs, traditionally attributed to King Solomon as a young man, is an allegory between two lovers, God and Israel.

According to Moshe Idel, Professor of Jewish Thought at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem (Kabbalah – New Perspectives, 1990), the 12th century Spanish mystic, Rabbi Ezra ben Solomon of Gerona, the 13th century Castilian mystic, Rabbi Isaac ibn Avi Sahula, and others focus on what are called the theosophical processes taking place between the two lower Sefirot of Tiferet (symbolized by the bridegroom) and Malchut (symbolized by the bride). According to these Kabbalists, both the biblical description and human love itself reflect or symbolize higher events within the metaphysical structure of God. (p. 206)

In other accounts, such as that of the 13th century Spanish Kabbalist, Avraham ben Shmuel Abulafia, The Song of Songs is an allegory of the intellect and its union with God.

These allegorical interpretations of The Song of Songs, beginning with Rabbi Akiva, are the basis upon which The Song of Songs is read each year on the Shabbat during Pesach, for it is then that we celebrate our people’s redemption on the one hand and the hoped-for-redemption of God within God’s Divine Self on the other.

All that being said, this extraordinarily enriched poetry seems at first glance to be a purely secular poem (God’s Name is never mentioned) celebrating young, sensuous and erotic love, the passionate draw of two lovers yearning for relief from their existential loneliness:

“For Love is strong as death / Harsh as the grave. / Its tongues are flames, a fierce / And holy blaze” (8:6 – Translation by Marcia Falk)

Taking the Songs as a secular poem, an allegory, or both, the emotional and spiritual longing can be sated only by one’s human and/or Divine lover.

The great Rav Avraham Isaac Kook wrote of the higher love this way (Translation by Ben Zion Bokser):

“Expanses divine my soul craves. / Confine me not in cages, / of substance or of spirit.

I am love-sick / I thirst, / I thirst for God, / as a deer for water brooks.

Alas, who can describe my pain? / Who will be a violin / to express the songs of my grief?

I am bound to the world, / all creatures, / all people are my friends.

Many parts of my soul / are intertwined with them, / But how can I share with them my light.”

          Shabbat shalom and Moadim L’simchah!

 

 

 

 

Purim Questions You May Have Wanted to Ask But Never Did – From the Very Basic to the Most Difficult of All

12 Wednesday Mar 2014

Posted by in American Jewish Life, Divrei Torah, Ethics, Holidays, Jewish History, Jewish Identity

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Who are the heroes and villains of the Purim story?

Depending on how you read the story and your values, your notion of what makes a hero might differ from others. Therefore: Possible Purim Heroes/Heroines = Esther, Mordecai (?), Ahashuerus (?) and Vashti (?);  Possible Purim Villains = Haman, Ahashuerus (?), and Mordecai (?).

What kind of a document is the story of Esther?

Usually called a megilah (scroll), it is in fact an iggeret (letter) suggesting its impermanence, much like the Jewish people’s experience during our 2000 years of exile living around the globe until the establishment of the state of Israel in 1948.

What are the 4 principle mitzvot of Purim?

[1] To hear the story – Sh’miat Megilah/Iggeret; [2] To take pleasure in a festive meal – Hana’at Seudah; [3] Sending gifts – Shlach manot; [4] Giving gifts to the poor – Matanot l’evyonim.

What is the meaning of the Hebrew word “Purim”?

Purim means “Lots” and refers to “lottery tickets” used by Haman to determine the date for his planned destruction of the Jews of Persia.

Is the story of Esther historically true?

Probably not, though it is based on real experiences of Jews at the hands of their enemies over time. Some scholars hypothesize that Ahashuerus was Xerxes I, who ruled Persia from 486-465 BCE. Historical records, however, make no mention of Haman, Esther or Mordecai, nor do they refer to any of the incidents recounted in Esther.

How did the story of Esther come to be written?

Some say that Purim co-opted and Judaized popular pagan carnivals. Others say that Esther was written at the time of the Maccabean revolt (165 BCE). In the flush of victory the story reinforced the national mood of confidence in deliverance. A third theory opines that the Babylonian creation god Marduk and the fertility god Ishtar cast lots to determine each other’s fate. Then, elements of the pagan festival were borrowed, rewritten and transformed into Purim with Marduk becoming Mordecai, Ishtar becoming Esther and “Lots” (Purim) playing a pivotal role in the plot.

Why do we make noise when Haman’s name is said?

Exodus 17 describes a bitter battle between the Israelites and the soldiers of Amalek who sought to destroy the Israelites and humiliate the God of Israel. In response, God instructed Moses: “Write this for a memorial in the book…I will utterly blot out the remembrance of Amalek from under the Heavens.” Haman is identified as a descendent of Amalek.

What is the basis of Jews getting drunk on Purim?

“Rava said: A man is obligated to become drunk on Purim until he can no longer distinguish between ‘Cursed be Haman’ and ‘Blessed be Mordecai.’” (Babylonian Talmud, Megilah 7b). Rabbi Yehiel Michel ben Aaron Isaac Halevi Epstein (19th century) warned: “Those who cannot hold their liquor or are alcoholics should certainly refrain from the ‘requirement’ to drink.’”

What is likely the most overlooked “detail” in the story of Esther?

In chapter 9, after Queen Esther persuaded King Ahashuerus that Haman intended to murder all the Jews (based on intelligence she received from Mordecai), the King appointed Mordecai as his chief advisor/Prime Minister in the place of Haman. Mordecai then led a campaign of blood-vengeance that included the public impaling of Haman and his ten sons, the killing of 500 men in the town’s fortress, 300 men in the city of Shushan, and 75,000 men, women and children throughout the Persian Empire. No small wonder that Jewish tradition and Purim celebrations ignore the wanton brutality perpetrated by Jews against the Persians at the end of this story.

Why is this story so popular despite its brutal conclusion?

Perhaps, because the Book of Esther is the quintessential experience of exile (i.e. galut). For 2000 years, until the establishment of the state of Israel, Jews have been subject to the largesse both positive and negative of their rulers. Given the trauma of anti-Jewish hatred throughout our history, Purim offered the Jewish people emotional and psychological release. The danger for contemporary Jewry, though there are still those who hate the Jewish people and the state of Israel, is that we become embittered and hateful like our enemies. Judaism and the state of Israel revere prophetic and rabbinic values as well as democratic norms that promote justice, compassion and peace, and those values are a hedge against the hardening of the heart and the loss of one’s Jewish soul. One might read Rava’s Talmudic call to become so drunk that Haman and Mordecai are indistinguishable from one another in a different way – that these two men were, in truth, the same, each driven by unchecked murderous designs.

Moses and God’s Tears – A Midrash for Parashat Vayikra

07 Friday Mar 2014

Posted by in Divrei Torah, Inuyim - Prayer reflections and ruminations, Musings about God/Faith/Religious life, Poetry

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So often God called upon Moses – / Three times they met; / first at  the flaming bush, / then on Sinai amidst rock and stone,  / and finally before the Tent of Meeting,  / that Moses might intuit God’s mind / and soothe God’s broken heart / as a lover brings comfort to her beloved.

Since creation / God yearned to bridge the chasm / formed when the Creator pulled away / to open space for the universe.

Alone – exiled within the Divine Self / The holy Name, YHVH, / was divided from Itself as well / when the vessels holding the light shattered / and matter was flung to the far reaches of the universe – / the upper spheres were divorced from the lower, / male from female, / the primal Father from the Mother, / Tiferet from Malchut, / Hakadosh Baruch Hu from Sh’chinah, / Adonai from K’nesset Yisrael.

God yearned to restore what was once whole, / And not remain alone.

Before time and speech / and earth hurled into space / God appointed the soul of the Shepherd-Prince Moses as prophet / and endowed him with hearing-sight / and intuitive-wisdom / and integrated-knowledge.

No one but Moses / came so near to God / for all the rest of humankind / has inadequate vision and understanding.

Moses alone saw with his ears / and heard with his eyes / and tasted with his mind / to withstand the Light.

The prophet descended from Sinai aglow, / the primordial Light shielded through a veil / with divine ink-drops touched to his forehead  / radiating everywhere  / and illuminating the earth’s four corners.

Moses descended as if upon angel’s wings, / weightless cradling the stone tablets / in the eye of raging winds.

Despite his soaring soul, / the prophet was the aleph of Vayikra / most modest of all the letters / unheard – only seen, / to be known internally, intuitively, / as the most humble of anyone / ever to walk the earth.

Though Moses appeared as a Prince in Egypt / his destiny was to be a lonely shepherd / to gather his sheep and God’s people / to draw them by example / nearer to God.

There was so much God needed from Moses – / to bring the plagues / to overpower Pharaoh, / to liberate the people and lead them to Sinai, / to commune with God and pass along the Word, / to construct the Tabernacle and create a home for God / that divinity / might dwell within every Israelite heart  / and thereby comfort God from loneliness.

After all God’s expectations and demands /we might expect Moses’ strength to be depleted, / that he would be exhausted to the bone / and ready to say; / “Enough! O Redeemer – find a new prophet!  / I can no longer bear the burden / and be Your voice and create bridges! / You are Almighty God! / I am but flesh!  / My strength is gone! / My time expired!”

“Nonsense!” proclaimed the YHVH. / “I am not yet ready for your retirement! / My world remains shattered, / My light obscured, / My heart still broken and aching? / I need you to teach My people / and instill in their hearts / a deep love that may heal My wound. / for I cannot do this for Myself.”

Alas, the Creator-Redeemer’s needs were clear – / to be close, so very close to Moses / that the prophet and Israel together / might wipe away God’s tears / and restore God’s heart  / and heal God’s Name.

Israeli MKs Need a Course in Anger Management – D’var Torah Ki Tisa

12 Wednesday Feb 2014

Posted by in American Jewish Life, American Politics and Life, Divrei Torah, Ethics, Israel and Palestine, Israel/Zionism, Jewish Identity

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Last week I was stuck in a traffic jam and one driver’s road rage was so intense that I feared a physical attack. It didn’t happen, but I got to thinking about how anger plagues so many of us and how badly it disturbs our relationships, our character and civil discourse.

This week’s Torah portion, Ki Tisa, pulls the veil off Moses’ rage. It is a famous scene. Moses is carrying the tablets of the law down from Mount Sinai when Joshua tells him of the people’s celebration around the golden calf. As Moses approaches the camp he hears for himself the revelry, his anger is kindled, and with righteous indignation he confronts the people, smashes the tablets, burns the golden calf, grinds it to powder, mixes the pulverized idol with water, and force-feeds the substance into the gullets of the guilty Israelites. (Exodus 32:15-20).

His rage still boiling over, in the next chapter we read, “Now Moses took the tent and pitched outside the camp.” (Exodus 33:7).

The Jerusalem Talmud (B’chorim 3:3) explains why he pitched the Tent of Meeting so far away from the camp:

“…because he was tired of the people’s constant complaining and criticism. As he would walk around the camp some would say ‘look at his thick neck, his fat legs, he must eat up all our money.’”

Moses moved the tent of meeting out of sight so that those who desired truly to come close to God would have to make the effort to do so.

God, however, appealed to Moses (Midrash Rabbah 45:2):

“I want you to change your mind, go back to the camp, and deal with the people face to face, as it says ‘The Eternal would speak to Moses face to face as one person speaks to another.’” (Exodus 33:11)

We can’t blame Moses for his impatience with the people. He had lived with their obstinacy, distrust and faithlessness since leaving Egypt. However, tradition reminds us that magnanimity of mind, heart and soul, compassion and patience are critical virtues in a leader and that once the leader loses control due to anger or despair, so too do the leader’s moral credibility and authority evaporate.

As a congregational rabbi and leader of a large religious institution, I have learned over more than 35 years of service that the very worst thing I could do is to respond to anyone impatiently and in anger, because when I would do so my credibility is compromised and my moral authority diminished. I believe this is true about leadership in religious institutions, in all kinds of business, in non-profit organizations, in the arts, education, government, politics, and diplomacy.

With this in mind, I have been shocked by the angry, intemperate and hostile accusations leveled against Secretary of State John Kerry by Israeli Strategic Affairs Minister Yuval Steinitz, Likud MK and Deputy Minister Ofir Akunis, and especially by Economics Minister and Jewish Home party chairman Naftali Bennett who recently called Secretary Kerry an anti-Semite. US National Security Advisor Susan Rice was quick to respond, and properly so, by defending Secretary Kerry’s integrity, friendship to the state of Israel, and sincere motivations in his peace efforts, as did Israeli PM Benjamin Netanyahu and Israeli President Shimon Peres.

As if these extremist and intemperate remarks weren’t enough, at the same time an orthodox Israeli Knesset member David Rotem, who serves as the chairman of the Knesset Law, Constitution and Justice Committee, said that the Reform movement “is not Jewish. It is another religion.” In response Rabbi Rick Jacobs, the President of the North American Union for Reform Judaism, and Rabbi Gilad Kariv, Executive Director of the Israel Movement for Progressive Judaism, called on the Israeli government to censure MK Rotem and remove him from his leadership roles.

At the very least, full and sincere apologies from these leaders are in order.

It is my position that a leader of the state of Israel who continuously insults United States officials and dismisses the legitimacy of a major religious movement of the Jewish people should be dismissed from his/her leadership duties.

Tradition says that Moses ultimately lost his dream to enter the Promised Land because in anger at the people he struck a rock with a stick instead of speaking to it as God had commanded him.

The Talmud reminds us that “When a person loses his temper – If he is originally wise, he loses his wisdom, and if he is a prophet, he loses his prophecy.” (Babylonian Talmud, Pesachim 66b).

If Moses could be so diminished by his anger that God would deny him his most cherished dream then so too should leaders of the Israeli government lose their positions when their words are insulting and intemperate.

The Connecting Vav of Mount Sinai and Our Lives – D’var Torah Mishpatim

24 Friday Jan 2014

Posted by in Book Recommendations, Divrei Torah, Health and Well-Being, Inuyim - Prayer reflections and ruminations, Musings about God/Faith/Religious life

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Last week’s Torah portion, Yitro, presented the Biblical equivalent of “shock and awe” like nothing that had happened to the Israelites before or since. Among the narrative’s highlights are descriptions of fire and clouds over the mountain, the descent of the physical manifestation of God upon Sinai, and the giving of Ten commandments.

This week, in Parashat Mishpatim, we shift from divine revelation to foundations in law. Fifty-three mitzvot are enumerated as part of “The Covenant Code” of Exodus, one of three law codes in the Hebrew Bible.

The parashah opens with the letter Vav – “And these are the judgments/laws/rules that you shall place before them…” thus connecting what came before with what will come.

As noted, the infinite God met the people personally at Mount Sinai – “N’vuah sh’mag’shima et otz’mah – What was spoken to Moses became manifest.” Rabbi Meir Leibush ben Yehiel Michel Wisser (the Malbim – 1809-1879) described that moment; “The people saw what could be heard and heard what could be seen, because of the inner awareness granted them at that time.”

That great event at Sinai opened the people’s consciousness to the non-rational realm of soul, spirit, metaphysics, and higher universes. Mystics of later generations experienced it, and in modern times we have many testimonies by those who have had “Near Death Experiences.” Among the most recent and remarkable is told by Dr. Eben Alexander in his book Proof of Heaven – A Neurosurgeon’s Journey into the Afterlife.

Dr. Alexander suddenly and unexpectedly was attacked by e. coli meningitis. For seven days he was into a coma during which time his brain’s pre-frontal cortex, the seat of consciousness, awareness and knowledge, shut down. His doctors and family expected him to die, but he survived and wrote this book telling of his experience.

He had been an atheist before, but this experience turned him into a God-believer. He was a trained scientist who valued reason above all else, but now he told of the existence of universes far greater than the mind. He wrote:

“Seeing and hearing were not separate in this place…. I could hear the visual beauty of the silvery bodies of … scintillating beings above, and I could see the surging, joyful perfection of what they sang. … you could not look at or listen to anything in this world without becoming a part of it … you couldn’t look at anything in that world at all, for the word at itself implies a separation that did not exist there.”

“I saw the abundance of life throughout … countless universes, including some whose intelligence was advanced far beyond that of humanity. I saw … countless higher dimensions, but … the only way to know these dimensions is to enter and experience them directly. They cannot be known, or understood, from lower dimensional space.”

[What I learned is that] “You are loved and cherished…[with] nothing to fear. …Love is the basis of everything. … the kind of love we feel when we look at our spouse and our children, or even our animals. In its purest and most powerful form, this love is not jealous or selfish, but unconditional. This is the reality of realities, the incomprehensibly inglorious truth of truths that lives and breathes at the core of everything that exists or that ever will exist, and no remotely accurate understanding of who and what we are can be achieved by anyone who does not know it, and embody it in all of their actions.”

Dr. Alexander articulated what can only be described as divine revelation, available always, but hindered to most of us by the constraints of our physicality and the strengths of our reason.

This week’s Torah portion turns us towards the material world we inhabit and establishes just and compassionate rules to perfect our public and private behavior and to refine our sense of moral responsibility and accountability.

The world the mystic sees of divine unity and the one in which we live of disjointedness and brokenness are, in truth, of the same continuum. The God of revelation is the God of commandment. Mitzvot grow out of a metaphysical vision of oneness experienced at Sinai and by Dr. Alexander. That is why our tradition evolves into law, not as an end but as the means of repair (tikkun) and return to unity (achdut).

What is above is below. The mitzvot make God the center of our lives from the moment of birth to the moment of death and beyond. The Aleinu says it succinctly, “L’taken ha-olam b’malchut Shaddai – [that our purpose is] To restore the world in the image of the dominion of God.”

Shabbat Shalom.