Thanksgiving -- 5775

Of all American holidays, Thanksgiving focuses the most on food.  Sure, we gorge on candy for Halloween and we barbeque on Independence Day.  But Thanksgiving’s menu is the most proscribed.  The meal takes center stage.  On Thanksgiving, like many Jewish holidays, food forms the ritual.  The food tells a story (even if that story isn’t factual).  The stories of Thanksgiving are not only national (“first feast”), but also familial (“grandma’s recipe,” “Dad always carves the turkey.”)  On Thanksgiving and every day, the foods we eat tell us who we are.

Temple Emanuel’s recent class on Jewish eating was fascinating.  We explored the rules that dictate what we eat in biblical, rabbinic, and ecological language.  We considered the many reasons for eating –nutrition, surely, but also pleasure, sociability, remembrance, geography, politics, and many others.  All these reasons are on display at Thanksgiving.

The class concluded by considering a proposed policy for eating at Temple Emanuel.  Until now, we’ve had expectations, but there hasn’t been a clear and public policy document.  In drafting the policy under consideration, the Ritual Committee policy sought to declare our Jewish identity while also acknowledging the realities of the ways most of us live.  It strove to promote inclusiveness by making Temple Emanuel a welcoming place for all kinds of Jews and all kinds of people.  Should one expect to eat at synagogue as one eats at home?  It’s a fascinating balancing act.

I urge you to consider the many rules that govern your own eating.  Not just kashrut, of course, but the “grammar” of your own diet.  Where, specifically, do you eat?  What do you eat at home and what away from home?  What constitutes a “special” meal for you?  At what times of day are certain foods allowed?  Do you have any taboo foods?

Let us be aware of the earth’s bounty, which sustains us each day.  Let us be aware of the others at our table, who enrich our lives.  From all of us at Temple Emanuel, Happy Thanksgiving!

Toldot -- 5775

There are no coincidences in Torah.  In fact, encountering the unexpected in a passage is often a clue that there’s a profound truth to be mined.  Textual oddities are windows into the mystery of the Torah.

The story of Jacob, Esau and the stew, from this week’s portion, Tol’dot, is a familiar one.  After a long day at the hunt, Esau, manly man that he is, returns to camp empty handed.  Ravenous, he asks his domesticated brother for a bowl of lentils.  “I’m famished; let me gulp down some of that red stuff!”  (Genesis 25:30).  Jacob seizes the opportunity, and trades his twin brother (elder by a hair) a bowl of soup for the birthright.

Rashi sees wickedness in Esau’s easy dismissal of his inheritance.  Others fault him for imagining himself so close to death.  But I find myself disappointed in Jacob who took advantage of his brother’s weakness, bargaining hard instead of feeding the hungry.

What if each of us looked out for our own interests only and ignored our brothers’ and sisters’ needs?  I believe the Torah answers this question with the verse that immediately follows the episode of the stew:  “There was a famine in the land” (Genesis 26:1).

While most readers see this stark, ominous statement as an introduction to the subsequent story—the famine causes Isaac to emigrate in search of food— I read it as a bridge between the two episodes:  famine is not only the cause of the journey, but also the logical result when one man’s selfish actions are repeated many times over.  It cannot be coincidence that the Torah follows a story about stinginess with food with the verse “there was a famine in the land.”  Famine occurs when we refuse to share our bounty with those in need.

What a gap there is in our world between those with access to food and those lacking basic nutrition.  “Some 805 million people in the world do not have enough food to lead a healthy active life. That's about one in nine people on earth,” says the World Food Program.  Some on our planet have little reliable access to food and others experience “food insecurity,” where their access to quality nutrition is unstable and/or insufficient, while the world’s wealthy enjoy unprecedented access to a wide range of food.  How often have you and I stood in the aisle of a grocery store deciding which cheese to buy while a billion people go hungry?

We have a moral obligation to assist those without access to nutritious food.  There are lasting solutions to the problem.  Globally, microcredit facilities work:  (relatively) tiny loans enable poor families to support themselves over the long term.  Visit www.kiva.org, a website through which individuals can make loans to aspiring entrepreneurs with small businesses in the developing world.  How exciting to be able to make such a powerful difference in the life of a family and community!

There is a “Jewish Response to Hunger”:  Mazon.  Jews and Jewish organizations of all kinds donate 3% of the cost of simchas, and the money is pooled to support life-changing projects in local communities and in Israel.  It’s a wonderful way to enact Jewish values, and develop a collective sense of Jewish Peoplehood.  More information is found at mazon.org.  Why not set an empty chair when you throw or attend a dinner party or Shabbat meal—that is, donate the cost of one meal to a local organization combating hunger and food insecurity?

Learn more about Global Hunger through the American Jewish World Service website:  ajws.org/reversehunger, and take their Hunger Quiz.

The ideas, resources and expertise exist to feed our planet—if only each one of us would share what’s in our bowl.

Chayei Sarah -- 5775

Abraham sends his servant to find a wife for his son, Isaac.  The man is remarkably quick about it: he identifies Rebekah within moments of arriving in the Old Country.

Rebekah is one of my favorite characters.  I love her drive to do chesed as she tends to the traveler and waters his camels.  I love her self-determination, accepting the offer of marriage on the spot.    She’s upbeat and looks to the future.  Rebekah’s got spunk.

Her brother Laban, however, is sneaky and treacherous.  He’s dazzled by the array of gifts Abraham offers.  Even after the deal is struck and Rebekah determined to leave, Laban and their mother declare “let the girl stay with us another few days – ten, perhaps – afterward she may go” (Genesis 24:55). 

I find that’s a pattern with negative people.  Like black holes, their negativity feeds on pulling down positive folk, draining energy.  The more energy you give them, the more they demand.  They feel validated by making happy people feel down.

Management guru Jim Collins, in his bestseller “Good To Great,” teaches bosses that if you’d be glad to hear that someone in your employ has resigned, you should fire them immediately.  While there are important ethical obligations and we can’t expect to like everyone in our world, the lesson is an important one.  We don’t have to allow other people’s misery to seep into our own lives.  Protect yourself by building a barrier between yourself and them.

There’s no value in playing a role in someone else’s drama.  Although it’s not easy, don’t stay mired in someone’s mishegas.  Instead, take a page from Rebekah’s playbook.  When asked if she was ready to leave home, she answered plainly, her bag already packed:  “I will go.”