Noach 5772

Noah was a righteous man, but his quality is qualified.  “In his generation, he was above reproach.”  (Genesis 6:9)  This is to say that Noah was not absolutely righteous, but rather only within his time—that is, relatively righteous.  Something was missing in his character.

Many have noticed that when Noah hears the news of earth’s impending destruction, he does not try to dissuade God.  Unlike Abraham, who bargains on behalf of the good, Noah sets about making plans for his own salvation.  This seems to be Noah’s fault:  he is blind to the suffering of others. 

David Jaffe, who becomes bar mitzvah this Shabbat, studied the construction plans for the ark and noticed that it had no windows.  Content with the rescue of his own family and the (sizeable!) tasks at hand, Noah was unable to see the pain around him.  When each of us sees only our own needs, then, surely, society is doomed.  When we reach out to each other with compassion, then we are saved.

Matir Asurim--Who Frees the Captive

After five years in captivity, Gilad Shalit has been freed from captivity, returned to his country and his family.  The Jewish people rejoice as one.

His is a story of one person’s triumph against every possible odd, and of a family’s unwavering devotion.  It is also an expression of Jewish values, of who we are as a people: valuing every single life, believing in redemption, and knowing hope without end.

This week, we celebrate Yizkor (a night of memory, on Wednesday), Simchat Torah (a night of endings and beginnings, Thursday) and Erev Shabbat (a night of joy, Friday).  Throughout this doubly-blessed week, we’ll offer special prayers and songs for his homecoming.

Baruch Ata Adonai, Matir Asurim—Blessed are You, God, who frees the captive.

A Day at the Botanical Gardens

Recent pictures of Jake!

Days of Awe 5772

These Days of Awe are the time to ask the big questions, the ones we never get around to the rest of the year.  While some people make the effort to ponder and pursue, others find the exercise extremely difficult.

There’s a great way to engage in the self-reflection of tshuvah:  10 Q.  10 Q uses today’s technology in service of Judaism’s best traditions.  For ten days, this brilliant website will send you an intriguing, substantial, open-ended question to consider.  You write your answers and submit them confidentially.  Next year, as the Days of Awe approach, the electronic vault is opened and your own answers are returned to you.  You’ll re-visit them from a year’s perspective. 

No one else sees what you write, but you get to see yourself.  And isn’t that the whole point?

www.doyou10q.com

Netzavim 5771

“I make this covenant, with its sanctions, not with you alone, but with both those who are standing here with us this day before the Eternal our God and with those who are not with us here this day.”  (Deuteronomy 29:13-14)

Tonight, I will be installed as rabbi of Temple Emanuel of Tempe.  It is a deep honor to serve this vibrant, varied, and caring community.  It is a true privilege to be invited into your lives in such profound ways.  It is a profound responsibility to shepherd the congregation into the future.

As Temple Emanuel’s rabbi, I am always aware of our past—the noble traditions of the Jewish people and the exceptional accomplishments of Temple Emanuel’s history.  I am engaged with the present:  the people immediately in front of my eyes—in the sanctuary, in a classroom, in my office, in the hallway, in a hospital room.  And I am ever mindful of our future:  ensuring that Temple Emanuel will continue to thrive so that it will serve Jews in the East Valley for many years to come.

It is truly an awesome responsibility.  But, as this week’s Torah portion further instructs, “the thing is very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart, to do it.”  (30:14)

The task is great and the hour is late.  Come—let us begin.

Ki Tavo 5771

Parashat Ki Tavo describes a powerful communal ritual:  six of the tribes will stand on Mt. Gerizim, and six others on Mt. Ebal.  The Priests would then proclaim a series of blessings and curses.  “Cursed is the one who misdirects a blind person underway.”   “Blessed shall be your basket and your kneading bowl.”  And all the people would respond “Amen.”

Certainly, the blessings were not meant to fall exclusively on only half the tribes, and the curses on the other.  So why were all the people assembled?  For two reasons:  They stood as witnesses for each other.  And they represented the entirety.

We will do something similar when we gather for the High Holy Days.  We will speak many words, some of which will fit us and others of which will not.  We will “confess” to a litany of sins that we didn’t commit.  Why do such a thing?  Indeed, why gather together all?

Although no one person committed all the sins listed in the confessional “Al Cheyt,” as a collective we committed many of them.  By reciting them as one, we give each other cover for making the confessions we need to.  By standing together, we become an audience for each other, so that each person can come clean publically.  By gathering in numbers, we give each other the gift of anonymity—no one knows what’s in his neighbor’s heart.

This yontif, why not go alone to a mountain top (as some Jews do)?  So that we can offer each other support, audience, and privacy.  Those are blessings indeed.

Ki Tetze 5771

Since few—if any—readers own donkeys or oxen, why bother to consider one of the verses in Parashat Ki Tetze:  “You shall not plow with an ox and a donkey together” (Deuteronomy 22:10)?  Since we’ll never have occasion to do such a thing, perhaps the verse is meaningless to us.

But before we dismiss it, let’s consider the verse more closely—particularly since, as non-farmers, we might not understand it fully.  Why not yoke the ox and the donkey together?  Not because of diminished productivity (that is, the farmer’s lost earnings), but rather out of concern for the animals’ welfare.  An ox and a donkey are of substantially unequal strengths.  If they are yoked together, they will draw at different paces.  They will be able to work for different amounts of time.  One might be dragged along, exhausted.  The unbalanced yoke might cut them.  It isn’t humane to form a partnership of two such mismatched animals.

For which creature should we be primarily concerned?  Is it the brawny ox, who can’t accomplish as much if tethered to the smaller donkey?  Or for the donkey, who works extra hard just to keep up, who has to rush so as not to be strangled?  The Jewish concern is primarily for the donkey, that is, the underdog.

The central narrative of the Jewish people is the Exodus:  our slavery in Egypt, and our release into freedom and covenant.  It is this story that makes us who we are.  We re-tell it when we pray, between conclusion of V’ahavta (“I am Adonai your God, who led you out of Egypt to be your God…”) and Michamocha, our song of redemption.  At Passover, we don’t just re-tell it—we experience it anew through culinary reenactment (“in every generation, each person is obligated to regard him or herself as though s/he had actually gone forth out of Egypt”).  We do this not only so that we will value our freedom, but also to remember our slavery.  We want the taste of maror, of bitterness, in our mouths so that we will know what misery feels like.  Why?  So that we will perpetually be on the side of the underdog, the powerless, the voiceless, the downtrodden … the donkey.  That is what it means to be a Jew. 

From an “irrelevant” statement about mismatched farm animals, we can discern the central principle of Judaism.

Shoftim 5771

I hear it regularly:  “I have lots of questions about my life, rabbi, but Judaism doesn’t have the answers.”  How very sad.

In synagogue as in secular school, we teach children what children are able to learn.  Although some stop their Jewish learning with Bar or Bat Mitzvah, they do not stop their growing—so that when, as adults, they ask adult-sized question, their Jewish learning can’t keep up.  Many Jewish adults conclude that Judaism has nothing to offer them.  When Jewish education ends at thirteen, Judaism is permanently adolescent.

“When [the Hebrew king] is seated on his royal throne, he shall have a copy of this Teaching written for him on a scroll by the Levitical priests.  Let it remain with him and let him read it all his life …" (Deuteronomy 17:18-19).

The Torah is a magnificent compendium, layering law and story in subtle and delicious ways.  It has something to offer us all the days of our lives.  When we feel our questions have outgrown its answers, it’s time to look again.