Vayishlach -- 5777

Jacob tricked his brother, ran away from home, and started a family. Years later, he’s on his way back.

In anticipation of seeing his twin, Jacob sends Esau a huge gift:

“200 goats and 20 he-goats, 200 ewes and 20 rams, 30 milk camels and their young, 40 cows and 10 bulls, 20 female donkeys and 10 male donkeys” (Genesis 21:16).

As his desperate prayer to God indicates, Jacob is terrified that Esau means to harm him. “I will win him over with an offering in advance; then, when I face him, he may pardon me,” Jacob, ever the schemer, reasons (Genesis 21:21). His largess is really a bribe.

In this holiday season, it’s easy to think like Jacob does, giving to get – perhaps a gift in return, some affection, or attention. But there are eight nights of Hanukkah, eight chances to turn a perfunctory present into a human connection. Can you elevate your gifting into something holy?

As you plan your gift giving this year, consider the intangible: time spent with others, shared experiences, helping the community.  

Sweaters fade and sweets get eaten. True connections last forever.

Lech L'cha -- 5777

“Look around from where you are, to the north and the south, to the east and the west.”  These are God’s words to Abram in Genesis 13, and I think they are vital today.

We – myself included – have cloistered ourselves beyond what’s healthy. Our cities and states offer segregated experiences. We encounter people of a different socio-economic class only across a counter, not in truly shared space. The generations don’t mix much. Facebook is America’s primary source of news, and its algorithms feed us what we want to consume. We are rarely challenged with a fact or opinion with which we disagree.

Rather than cocooning ourselves in our personal realities as we have done, Americans are called to look around ourselves and to understand in a deep and meaningful way the experiences of those who are different from us:

• The retiree who lives in a mobile home, and the retiree who lives in a condo by the beach.
• The urban high school dropout, and the Ivy League lawyer.
• The father whose job isn’t coming back, and the mother who loves to work.
• The immigrant taxi driver and the new recruit.
• The former foreman and the savvy CEO.
• The hungry and the full, the young and the old, the eager and the scared, and everyone in between.

We are America, those at the edges and those in-between. This nation’s greatest challenge has always been how to be One while, at the same time, being Many.

How can we accomplish this? By going out of our way to talk and listen to others. By reading books from different points of view. By visiting each other’s homes rather than another Starbucks. By taking a trip to an undiscovered part of the country. By subscribing to a news source that doesn’t confirm our existing biases. By popping the bubble that’s become an echo-chamber of our own thoughts.

We are no doubt each entitled to believe and vote as we will. But we are not entitled to believe that ours is the only opinion that counts, nor to denigrate the experiences of others. We owe it to ourselves, to our fellows, and to our descendants, to understand the contours of other peoples’ lives.

“This land is your land.  This land is my land. From California to the New York Island. From the redwood forests to the Gulf Stream waters, this land was made for you and me.”

Simchat Torah -- 5777

Each Shabbat, a new bar or bat mitzvah takes their place in front of the unrolled Torah, takes a deep breath, and reads.  Some are confident and some are shaky, but all understand the power of the moment:  they are doing something difficult, and they are standing where countless others have stood before.  They are assuming their place in the great chain that is our people.

In honor of Simchat Torah, I’m dedicating this column to our sifrei Torah (Torah scrolls) and their places of origin.

Two of our scrolls are on permanent loan from the Memorial Scrolls Trust, a London-based non-profit dedicated to the preservation and promulgation of Torah scrolls from the former Czechoslovakia.  Our principal scroll hails from Pilsen (Plezn), and our secondary scroll comes from Kardasova-Recice, in West and South Bohemia, respectively.

Beilee Kagan, our member, spent the summer researching the towns of Pilsen and Kardasova-Recice.  She built a page on the Temple Emanuel website to share information about the communities that created and once housed our sifrei Torah.  We hope this will deepen our connection with them.

To think that boys from those places read the very same words, written in the very same ink, as they became Bar Mitzvah.  Our lives are linked to theirs because we share the same story.  To think that thousands of people from those places reached out to kiss these scrolls as they paraded past.  Our lives are linked to theirs because we share the same Torah scroll, just as our lives are linked to all Jews because we share the same Torah.

Beilee compiled photographs of those communities as well as our own scrolls.  Please take a look, here:  emanueloftempe.org/about-us/about-our-torah-scrolls.

Learn more about the work of the Memorial Scrolls Trust here:  www.memorialscrollstrust.org.

We are custodians of these scrolls and the invisible yet indelible memory of those who have gone before us.  It is our honor to protect the scrolls and allow the wisdom they contain to live through us.  We hope that others will follow after, taking their place 100 and 150 years from now and, after a deep breath, begin to read.

Netzavim -- 5776

The people gather once more to hear Grandfather Moses.  He talks and talks, yet they never tire of listening.  He won’t be with them much longer.  “You stand this day, all of you, before the Eternal your God – you tribal heads, you elders, and you officials, all the men of Israel, you children, you women, even the stranger within your camp, from woodchopper to water drawer, to enter into the covenant of the Eternal your God” (Deuteronomy 29:9-11).

This passage is read this week, and soon again at Yom Kippur.  Why the repetition?

Why did the people bother listening to Moses?  They’ve heard him intone week after week, sermon after sermon.  Why do they show up?

Perhaps the answer to both questions is the same.  We don’t show up for the High Holy Days simply because of the words, and perhaps our ancestors didn’t, either.  We show up to be together – men, women, and children, all of us as one.  On Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, like no other days of the year, we experience our peoplehood.   There’s nothing like being in a crowd of folk who share your world views, experiences, values, and commitments.  That’s especially true for us, isolated as we are in the East Valley.  When we stand shoulder to shoulder in our hundreds, five hundreds, and thousands, we remember that we are part of something far bigger than ourselves, our family, or our circle of friends.  We belong to a great and ancient nation, and we are party to an eternal covenant.  There is no substitute for your tribe.

We’ll hear these stirring words this week, and again on Yom Kippur, and again and again (God willing!) in years to come.  We hear them because we need them, and because we need to be with our people.

Ki Teitzei -- 5776

“You shall make tassels on the four corners of the garment with which you cover yourself” (Deuteronomy 22:12).

This Biblical injunction is the basis for the tallit, or prayer shawl.  The knots of the tassels (here called “gedilim,” but called “tzitzit” in Numbers 15:38) remind us of the mitzvot, our ritual and ethical responsibilities.  But they also remind us of something else.

When, in the morning service, we pray the Shema, traditional Jews gather the four tassels into their hands, turning many strands into one.  This demonstrates that, although the world appears to be divided and complex, there is a fundamental Unity behind it.  We call that Unity God.

“As above, so below.”  As God is unified although apparently diffuse, so too is the Jewish people.  We are scattered amongst all the lands, speaking different languages and eating different foods.  Despite appearances, we are nonetheless one people.  Klal Yisrael, the Unity of the Jewish people, is real.  You feel it when you visit a foreign synagogue or you’re behind an Israeli family in the grocery store.  You know it when Israel is besieged. 

When we gather the four tassels, we are encouraging God to gather us from the earth’s four corners, fortifying Israel with our unity.

There are many meaningful ways to observe the High Holy Days and to engage in tshuvah.  Undoubtedly, one of them is to join with your people.  It is then that we realize that we are a thread in a much greater tapestry, and that we are not alone.

Ekev -- 5776

After a 40 year-long slog through the wilderness, haven’t the Israelites waited long enough?  The Promised Land lies sparkling before them, ready to be entered and occupied.  Destiny, and a place to hang their hats, await. 

Not so fast.  Moses tells them that “the Eternal your God will dislodge [the inhabitants of the land] before you little by little; you will not be able to put an end to them all at once” (Deuteronomy 7:22).  Even though the Israelites are ready for the land, it is not ready for them.

There’s a good reason the natives aren’t to be vanquished all at once.  Were the land to be emptied of human inhabitants, “wild beasts would multiply to your hurt.”

Even when doing something wonderful or exciting, the pace must be right.  Moving either too fast or too slow can be harmful.

My natural instinct is always to rush forward with a good idea.  As a congregational rabbi, however, I’ve learned the value of taking my time.  I’ve realized that success requires asking the right questions, planning thoughtfully, listening actively to supporters and naysayers alike, and communicating the vision – and the logistics! -- in multiple ways.  It’s a slower process, but makes success more likely. 

You’ve likely heard the news by now that Beth Olson, the synagogue’s Executive Director, has resigned her position.  Although it’s tempting to jump right in to the search process, it is wiser to be thoughtful about it – to acknowledge our feelings of sadness, to think through the options, to assemble the right team of decision-makers, and to do our research before moving forward.  That is exactly what we’ll do, so as to ensure the congregation’s continued success.

“Remember the long way that the eternal your God has made you travel in the wilderness these past forty years, in order to test you by hardships to learn what was in your hearts” (Deuteronomy 8:2).

Va’etchanan -- 5776

My dvar Torah in this week's Jewish News.