"In the beginning, God created . . . B'reishit bara Elohim et . . ." (Genesis 1:1). Et is the fourth word of Torah and it has no meaning. It's a grammatical Hebrew term marking the direct object hashamayim, "the heavens."The purpose of et appears to be to draw attention to exactly what God is creating.
Yet, how could the fourth word of Torah have as little significance as to serve only as a marker . . . to mean nothing? As humans, when we imagine we form a picture--and that isn't "nothing." It's impossible to see nothing.
Numbers 22:12, "But God said to Balaam, 'Do not go with them. You must not curse that people, for they are blessed.' "
When God says these words to Balaam, God tells him that the Israelite people are blessed and that no matter the curse that Balaam utters, it is in vain. This begins another paradox like those Rabbi Frishman discussed: can an eternally blessed people truly be cursed? For another interpretation of these words, we might consider who has asked for the curse and who is meant to be the recipient of the curse? We know Balak asked that the Israelites be cursed and so we ask, why? There are two reasons: first, because of fear and second, because of jealously. Balak was scared of the Israelites as they were numerous, strong, and victorious. He was jealous for the same reason: they were so numerous, the earth could not be seen (Number 22:5), and they were strong and victorious. Things were going well for the Israelites and this scared Balak.
"Now Korah, son of Izhar son of Kohath son of Levi, betook himself, along with Dathan and Abiram . . . descendants of Reuben--to rise up against Moses, together with two hundred and fifty Israelites, chieftains of the community, chosen in the assembly, men of repute. They combined against Moses and Aaron and said to them, 'You have gone too far! For all the community are holy, all of them, and the Eternal is in their midst. Why then do you raise yourselves above the Eternal's congregation?' "(Numbers 16:1-3).
Who were Korah, Dathan, and Abiram? All had status of import: Korah was a Levite, and Dathan and Abiram were from the tribe of Reuben, the firstborn.
Throughout the Bible, God is challenged. Abraham challenges God. Pharaoh challenges God. Jezebel challenges God. The Israelites constantly challenge God.
What is it that distinguishes these challenges and God's responses to them? Parashat Korach gives us a little insight. We read of four different challenges this week, and four levels of response. Korah bands with Dathan and Abiram against Moses and Aaron. The Israelites gather against Moses and Aaron. Moses and Aaron beseech God not to destroy the entire community. The chieftains of Israel accept the challenge God puts forth for the right to be in the Divine Presence.
Sh'lach L'cha is about faithlessness. It's hard to comprehend the treachery of the scouts and the response of the Israelites. Throughout their wanderings, the people doubted God, yet God protected and moved them toward the Land. What caused their betrayal? The portion begins:
The Eternal spoke to Moses, saying, "Send notables to scout the land of Canaan, which I am giving to the Israelite people; send one man from each of their ancestral tribes, each one a chieftain among them." So Moses, by the Eternal's command, sent them out from the wilderness of Paran, all of them being notables, leaders of the Israelites . (Numbers 13:1-2)
The twelve men scouted the land for forty days. Upon return, ten of them spread lies among the masses, paralyzing them with fear. The people cried that it would be better to appoint new leaders and return to Egypt. The people wanted to replace Moses and Aaron!
Sh'lach L'cha was my bar mitzvah Torah portion nearly four decades ago. I liked the portion then, and I like it now. Several features appealed to me as an adolescent, and still do as an adult.
First, unlike much of the Book of Numbers, it's a good read. How many kids get a cool spy story with plenty of drama? Somehow, as a youngster I overlooked the tragic ending. When ten of the twelve spies return from their scouting of the Promised Land with an overtly pessimistic report, a near riot ensues. God's wrath is kindled, and with few exceptions the generation of the desert will not reach their goal.
The story goes that, back in the day, the rabbi of a large Classical Reform congregation would call the professional staff together on the day after Rosh Hashanah, for a debriefing on the services. This was likely to include a scolding for the soloist for picking up his cue 23 seconds late. The service was expected to start on time, stay on time, and end on time; and 9:00 A.M. did not mean 9:02, since the last echoes of All the World Shall Come to Serve You had to dissipate by 10:45, not 10:47. After all, the second shift would be arriving, and their service had to start at 11:15, not 11:17.
Whether to accommodate the second shift, or to accommodate the congregation's limited zitsfleish (attention span, to use a Gates of Prayer-type translation), Reform liturgy is still heavily tied to the clock, which is why most congregations read only an arbitrary selection of perhaps a dozen verses out of the weekly parasha.
Judaism teaches us to distinguish the holy. This doesn't mean that holy things are separate from ordinary ones; rather, the ordinary can become holy. For example, when we enter a crowded room, we notice people superficially: what they're wearing, their hairstyles. We have an ordinary perception. But standing with a person and talking together while looking into one another's eyes, our perception shifts; we see that person differently, more deeply. This is a holier perception. Noticing the beauty of nature is an ordinary behavior. By acting to preserve that beauty, our behavior becomes holy.
Our parashah begins with the command to Aaron to light the lamps of the menorah in the Tabernacle (Numbers 8:1-3). Building of the menorah and lighting of the lamp involves far more than simply striking a match. Here, the Torah doesn't use the Hebrew root dalet-lamed-kuf , "light" (as in l'hadlik neir, "to light a candle"). Instead, it uses the phrase B'haalot'cha, "When you mount the lamps," with the Hebrew root ayin-lamed-hei, which means "to elevate" or "to lift up." Why does the Torah use this term? Our Sages explain that Aaron was to hold the flame in place until the flame ascended (see Rashi on Numbers 8:2).
I was interested to see that Rabbi Frishman's d'var Torah for the coming Shabbat, June 6th, deals with the parasha Naso. On Shabbat Naso, I will be privileged to lead the Torah discussion at my home congregation, but I will be talking about B'haalotcha. A week later, I will be honored to read Torah at the URJ Board meeting, and I will be reading from B'haalotcha. So what gives?
At my congregation, our Shabbat morning Kahal (worship community) is lay-administered, and when the volunteer scheduler for divrei Torah assigned me June 6th, he told me to discuss Naso II. Although I knew there are weeks when there are double parshiyot, I didn't remember ever before encountering a split parasha. When I asked the rabbi about it, he responded, "standing on one leg," that it had to do with the second day of Shavuot coming on Shabbat.
On the day that the Mishkan was fully erected, the princely chieftains were instructed to bring identical tribal offerings to the Mishkan (Numbers 7:10). It is striking that God's instruction to bless the people (Numbers 6:22-27) preceded these gift offerings--as if to make clear that the priestly blessing was completely unconditional. God loved us.
So no gifts were necessary. Yet they were brought. Why? Perhaps because knowing we were loved drew us to return that love. We were blessed as a people; as a people, we would return that blessing with our own offerings, tribe by tribe. The gifts would benefit everyone; without them, there would have been no sacrificial rites. These last two actions in Naso were reciprocal: a gift of blessing for the people, a gift of offering for God.
Rabbi Frishman makes a profoundly important argument at a critical moment of crisis in America and across the world. As we face the worst economic collapse since the Depression, she reminds us of a key principle of Jewish tradition: in a k'hilah k'doshah, "a sacred community," the individual understands that the sum is greater than the parts . Judaism has always argued that our obligations, "mitzvot," do not serve the limited end of individual happiness alone; rather, they are the acts upon which we depend for the sake of the common good.
If you swim off the beaches of Australia, you need to be on the lookout for "blue bottles," an Aussie nickname for the Portuguese man of war. A blue bottle is not a jellyfish nor is it a single creature. It's a siphonophore composed of four different animals: a transparent blue bladder that floats on the surface of the sea; stinging tentacles that hang from this bladder; feeding polyps; and separate male and female reproductive polyps. None of these organs are on the same creature; each is on a distinct creature. Not one of these animals could live apart from the others. The siphonophore is like a community, able to exist only through the coordinated and collective efforts of each member (see The Paradigm of the Beast, John N. Bleibtreu [New York: Macmillan Company, 1968], pp. 252-53).
As Rabbi Frishman mentions above, Parashat Naso includes a section that discusses the alleged adulteress--a woman who "has gone astray and broken faith with her husband, in that a man has had carnal relations with her unbeknown to her husband, and she keeps secret the fact that she has defiled herself without being forced, and there is no witness against her" (Numbers 5:12-13). The text vividly describes an ancient ritual that seems to help the priest determine whether or not the wife is indeed guilty of adultery: she drinks a mixture of sacral water and earth from the floor of the Tabernacle, and her reaction to the drink allows for the deduction of her guilt or innocence.
I have experienced many difficulties and hardships in my life and yet despair is a state in which I rarely remain for long. This is largely because despair cannot share the same place as wonder. . ." (Alice Walker, We Are the Ones We Have Been Waiting For: Inner Light in a Time of Darkness [New York: The New Press, 2006], p. 36)
With Shavuot coming, we begin a new book of Torah, the Book of Numbers, B'midbar . Contrasting Vayikra and B'midbar , the former focuses on how to live in holy ways, whereas B'midbar is filled with confrontation. Vayikra describes what would take place within the Mishkan , providing opportunities for spiritual cleansing and elevation including the most personal details of life. B'midbar addresses the people from outside of the Mishkan-- outside where doubt and ego assail them. There are many struggles. Time and again the Israelites challenge Moses's authority and God's power. What with food rebellions (Numbers 11:1-34, 21:4-9), fear of entering the Promised Land (13:31-14:4), Korach's uprising (16:1-17:15, the sexual idolatry of the Midianites and Israelites (25:1-9), and so on, it is remarkable that we survived our despair.
I began my rabbinate in small congregations, as a student rabbi for four years in Seminole, Oklahoma, and for five years as the rabbi at Mount Sinai Congregation in Wausau, Wisconsin (situated about three hours north of Madison, Wisconsin). It was in small towns and cities that I learned first hand of the incredible daily efforts that our people make to ensure that synagogues survive and thrive.
When Rabbi Frishman asks us to keep Torah at the center, in light of the present economic crisis, I think of so many congregations who confront this issue every day, regardless of whether the stock market is up or down.
"Proclaim release throughout the land . . .," says Leviticus 25:10. This is not exactly the translation engraved on the Liberty Bell. There, the word d'ror is translated as "liberty." D'ror is probably traceable to an ancient Akkadian verb darāru, like the Hebrew, dalet-reish-reish, meaning "'to move about freely,' referring in this instance to the freedom granted those bound by servitude" (see Baruch A. Levine, Leviticus JPS Torah CommentaryPhiladelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1989, p. 171). Relief from unendurable financial burdens is one of the features of the jubilee year, the fiftieth year following a cycle of seven times seven years.
We strive for a balanced life, to achieve the elusive "work-life" balance: to eat a well-balanced diet (there are even "Balance" bars if you're in a hurry, pardon the oxymoron), to exercise and study and spend time with loved ones all in equal, balanced measure. Given how harried and hectic our contemporary lives are, I wonder the extent to which this notion of balance, described so elegantly by Dr. Adler in her explication of the yovel, "jubilee," is a fanciful myth or an enduring religious ideal.
At the end of Parashat Emor, a disturbing incident is related. In the heat of a fight, a man curses God and is stoned to death for blasphemy (Leviticus 24:10-23). It is understandable that readers may be repulsed by this narrative, and shocked and angry to find it in the Torah. I want to examine the incident more closely, however, to understand the meaning of what occurred in terms of the world of the story.
This week's parashah opens with detailed guidelines regarding the holiness of priests and sacrifices. The text places the emphasis on avoiding the desecration of sacred space by insuring the sacredness of the people and offerings entering that space (Leviticus 21:1-22:23). Later, the discussion shifts from the sacredness of space to the sacredness of time (Leviticus 23:1-44).
It is this shift from space to time that separated the Jewish community of the Bible from the other communities in which they communed. It is easy to place a fence around sacred spaces and wall them off from the infectious impurity of the outside world. It is much more challenging to wall off time and set it aside as sacred. This, I believe, is the greatest gift that Judaism brings to the world of religion.
The making of boundaries is an overarching theme in Leviticus: there is the sacred place and there are secular places, priests and non-priests, permitted foods and forbidden foods, permitted sex and forbidden sex. In Leviticus 19, the Torah offers boundaries in other areas: a compendium of ways to be in relationship rightly and justly with our neighbors and with God. You might call it an ethics of right relationship. And this ethics provides everyday ways to pursue holiness.
The opening words of,Acharei Mot/K'doshim, set the frame for its interpretation. Acharei mot means"after the death" (Leviticus 16:1). Nadab and Abihu die because of the significant sin of bringing alien fire to the altar (Leviticus 10:1-3). Aaron and the priests are then warned about the danger of a misstep in their role as officiants at the altar (Leviticus 10:8-11; 16:2) and only then are taught about the crucial ritual of Yom Kippur (Leviticus 16:3-28). The rites of atonement are among the priests' most important functions. To reconcile God and the people they must first make atonement for themselves. The role of leadership is crucial and Torah demands much of leadership. When their assigned tasks can effect not only their own fate but also the fate of the people, leaders must approach them with care and a sense of awe. Both they and the people are in danger and what they do matters. Today, the synagogue is the substitute for the Temple and rabbis and cantors often serve similar roles to the priests, but all who lead sacred institutions-- professionals and volunteers--are responsible for respecting the k'dushah,"holiness," of their tasks.
By Marge Eiseman I've always wondered why the Torah reading about the Exodus didn't occur at the time of year when we celebrate Passover. And shouldn't we be reading about receiving the Ten Commandments at Shavu'ot? Doesn't that make more sense? Why are we in the midst of all the rules for the Levites and how to properly offer sacrifices, when it's time for us to act "as if" we were there at the plagues and the preparation for crossing the sea?
Like many of you, I am a regular reader of Ten Minutes of Torah--Reform Voices of Torah on Mondays, Mishnah Day on Tuesdays, Israel Connections on Wednesday, Delving in Liturgy on Thursdays and the Jewish World and Social Action on Fridays...regular as clockwork. (I still miss Kevin Proffitt's Tuesday essays about the Jewish American experience, but that's a post for another time.)
Last Wednesday, the last day of Passover, I attended the festival shacharit and yizkor service in my home congregation, where I still daven from time to time. When it was time for the Torah service, Rabbi Bravo invited the congregation to the bema, where we passed the scroll one to the next before she opened it, we recited the blessing, and she prepared to read. As she did so, she told of rolling quickly to the right spot earlier in the week, as a few b'nai mitzvah students looked on.
"How can you find it so fast?" one asked. "It's easy," she said she told them. "You'll see."
It's time for all Leviticus fans to haul out their decoder rings! In Leviticus 13 and 14, we encounter a strange disease called tzaraat, which can be contracted by human beings, walls, stones, or cloth. Tzaraat has been translated variously as " 'scale disease,' 'scaly disease,' 'eruption,' and (erroneously) 'leprosy' " (The Women's Torah Commentary, ed. Tamara Cohn Eskenazi and Andrea L. Weiss [New York: URJ Press, 2008] p. 659). What in the world is tzaraat? Into this category, ancient Israelites put human skin diseases such as eczema, psoriasis, and vitiligo, plus forms of fungus and mildew that attack stone or cloth. What all these conditions have in common, as I have suggested elsewhere, "is that their wholeness is being compromised. They are being eaten into, decayed, caused to come apart" (Rachel Adler, "Those Who Turn Away Their Faces: Tzara'at and Stigma," in Healing and the Jewish Imagination:Spiritual and Practical Perspectives on Judaism and Health, ed. William Cutter [Woodstock, Vt.: Jewish Lights Publishing, 2007] p. 146). I would call tzaraat "disintegration disease."
Judaism is not only biblical, but is also rabbinic. This may be evidenced by the fact that other faith communities hold our Hebrew Scriptures as sacred but interpret them in ways that lead to beliefs and practices beyond the realms of Judaism. Rabbinic interpretations of Torah not only reveal the many distinctions of our religion, but also strive to maintain the currency of the biblical text so that it will remain ever-relevant to our lives.
Just now, American society is reexamining the way it eats. Michael Pollan, in his best-selling book In Defense of Food: An Eater's Manefesto, advises distinguishing between food and some of the poor imitations for food that we currently ingest (New York: Penguin Group, 2008). He suggests that we not eat too much and that we eat mostly plants. That's easier said than done. Barbara Kingsolver, in Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life, advocates eating only what is local to reduce our carbon imprint on this overburdened earth, to circumscribe the boundaries of our appetites and become locavores (Barbara Kingsolver, Steven L. Hopp, and Camille Kingsolver [New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 2008]). It appears that boundaryless eating is not respectful either of our bodies or of animals or of the earth or its products. Parashat Sh'mini, in Leviticus 11:1-23, lays out dietary laws for the people of Israel. We are counseled to restrict ourselves, to practice, one might say, a kind of purity law about diet. Somewhere in eternity, Levitical priests are smiling. "What a novel idea!" they whisper to one another.
In Parashat Sh'mini, Moses teaches us which animals we should eat. Reform Jews should consider ethical kashrut, including setting our own standards for consumption and for avoiding foods and other products whose production harms our health and environment, oppresses labor, or enables mistreatment of animals.
We Jews love to eat, hardly a cultural distinction. Every Jewish holiday teaches, "They tried to kill us. We survived. Let's eat." "They," our enemies, may be those internal forces we call yetzer hara, our evil inclinations--our greed, pride, appetite, and lust. Kashrut helps us direct those forces toward beneficial goals--justice, peace, beauty, and love. The discipline of kashrut empowers us to control all excesses, the same benefit we gain by refraining from chameitz on Passover.
Doctors say that scar tissue is much stronger than tissue that has never suffered trauma, and the same is true of covenants. After the sin of the Golden Calf in Exodus 32, God, Moses, and the people Israel are reconciled. The covenant that was broken through idolatry is mended and emerges even stronger in our holy day Torah portion. How does a betrayal of the covenant, about which God threatens to destroy the people, result in a new doctrine of divine mercy?
It begins with Moses's passionate advocacy on the part of his erring people. In the Talmudic tractate B'rachot 32a, Moses is portrayed as one of the heroes of prayer who "hurled words at heaven," using chutzpah to move God to mercy. God drops the hint that Moses needs in Exodus 32:10: "Now, let Me be, that My anger may blaze forth against them and that I may destroy them, and make of you a great nation." Moses hears, "Now, let me be," and thinks, "What if I don't let God be?" That is his cue to begin arguing. In the Talmudic passage, Rabbi Abahu comments on the outrageousness of Moses's behavior with an equally outrageous analogy: "Moses took hold of the Holy One like one who seizes his fellow by the garment and said, 'Ruler of the universe, I will not let You go until you pardon them and forgive them.'" Moses is, as it were, grabbing God by the suit lapels and demanding mercy.
Dr. Adler describes the interaction between God and Moses following the apostasy of the Golden Calf and perceptibly depicts Moses's demeanor as "passionate advocacy."
Passion appears to dominate in both God and Moses. Emotion, not logic, is the primary ingredient in their exchange. As Dr. Adler elucidates, their dialogue is replete with words like "anger," "pardon," "forgive," "faithfulness," "compassion," "mercy," and "kindness." Moses's plea, "Let not the Egyptians say, 'It was with evil intent that he [You] delivered them'" (Exodus 32:12), is hardly an appeal to logic.
by Larry Kaufman As a relatively new member of my congregation, Beth Emet, the Free Synagogue, I was already well aware that, most of the time, one of the clergy presents advar Torah at kabbalat Shabbat, while, most of the time, a lay member of the Kahal (the Shabbat morning community) leads the Torah discussion.
Thus I felt particularly honored a few weeks back when the rabbi called to ask if I would be willing on such and such a Kabbalat Shabbat to give the dvar Torah. First I said yes, and only then did I inquire, "What's the parasha?" It was too late to back out when I learned he had saddled me with Vayikra. (My comments on Vayikra, Leviticus, appear in a separate post.)
But in for a penny, in for a pound - as long as I was going to prepare a drash on Vayikra, how could I say no when the Dvar Torah coordinator for the Shabbat morning Kahal asked me to do a repeat performance? We discussed the possibility of making people sit through the same material twice, but agreed that is that there is relatively little overlap between the Friday night kabbalat Shabbat congregation and the Kahal. Again, in my twenty months at Beth Emet, I have noticed during my various forays into adult education that there are a number of people who are regular students but infrequent worshippers. The UJA keeps reminding us that We Are One, but in most congregations, we seem to be at least three. Perhaps the sign outside our shul should read Beth Emet - the Free Synagogues, or even the Three Synagogues.
by Rachel Adler (Originally published in Ten Minutes of Torah and Reform Voices of Torah) Annie LaMott, who writes on Christian spirituality, says that the two best prayers she knows are "Help me, help me, help me" and "Thank you, thank you, thank you" (Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith [New York: Random House, 2000], p. 82). The ancient Hebrews would add, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," while the psalmists would add, "Oh wow!" (or some more-nuanced expression of sheer wonder). Ancient sacrifices may appear mysterious to us -- these crude outpourings of blood and incinerations of fat and meat -- but they, too, constituted a vocabulary for communicating with God. That is why they are called korbanot, "coming-near offerings." You might say that sacrifices stood for certain kinds of prayers sent aloft with the rising smoke to come near to God.read MORE
by Michael L. Feshbach (Originally published in Ten Minutes of Torah and Reform Voices of Torah) Dr. Adler asks, "Are unintentional lapses that serious?" Inadvertent misconduct is a category understood by our ancestors. In the course of weighing our actions and working to make the world a better place, it is a question worth considering in our lives.
Most of us encounter the concept of accidental sin most clearly on Yom Kippur. In our machzor (High Holy Day prayer book) we read, Al cheit shechatanu l'fanecha, b'zadon uvishgagah , "The sin we have committed against You consciously or unconsciously" (Gates of Repentance, p. 271).
In moral evaluation, I believe we need to measure both intent and impact.
By Larry Kaufman I once had a rabbi who was as close to a tzaddik as anyone I've ever known. Over our thirty-five year relationship, only once have I known Paul to do a mean thing - but he did it to me! At the oneg Shabbat, one November night, Paul beckoned me to join him in his conversation with Penina, a somewhat intense elderly congregant. "I think Larry can possibly answer your question better than I can," Paul said, as he beat a hasty retreat. So I asked Penina how I could help, wondering wherein my expertise might beat the rabbi's, and she posed her question: Is smoked fish kosher for Passover?
I thought about Paul saddling me with Penina when I got a phone call last month from my current rabbi, who asked if I would be available on such and such a Shabbat to give a dvar Torah. First I said Yes, and only then did I ask, What's the parasha? It was too late to back out when I learned he had saddled me with Vayikra.
"There is a new container full of old wine and an old container in which there is not even new wine." -Pirkei Avot 4: 20
New technologies are changing the world of Reform Jewish education, and as Rabbi Scott Sperling puts it, our challenge is to fill the "new container with old wine." In the current volume of Torah at the CenterSperling and others cite examples of this brave new world:
By Rachel Adler
(Originally published in Ten Minutes of Torah and Reform Voices of Torah) A popular belief is that Leviticus is the monster book of the Torah. It bores us to death with rules about sacrificial offerings. It grosses us out with details about skin eruptions and genital discharges. It annoys us by dictating whom we may and may not have sex with. It leaves us wondering why these strange topics need to be in the Torah and what this book is really about. In short, Leviticus scares us. And that is because, more than any other book of the Torah, Leviticus needs a secret decoder ring. Secret decoder rings--toys offered in cereal and snack boxes from the 1930s on--were used to decode radio show-delivered hidden messages aimed at children. The term is still current, meaning "a device that will make what is cryptic comprehensible." My secret decoder ring for Leviticus consists largely of two streams of research that I can focus on this mysterious book: (1) symbolic anthropology, such as that of Professor Mary Douglas (Leviticus as Literature [Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press], 1999), and (2) comparative data from other ancient Near Eastern societies.
read MORE
by Jonathan L. Singer (Originally published in Ten Minutes of Torah and Reform Voices of Torah) As our commentator notes, sacrifice is a touchy topic for contemporary Jews. Vayikra, the first parashah in the Book of Leviticus, explores the ancient sacrificial system, describing in bloody detail the various offerings our ancestors would place on the central altar. At first glance, the behavior seems very strange to our modern aesthetic, but is it appropriate?
Vayikra tells us that the priests took the animals for sacrifice and prepared them. The priest would remove "all the fat . . . " and turn it into "smoke on the altar" (Leviticus 3:3-5ff).These instructions may sound odd to us until we turn on any television and watch chefs like Emeril Lagasse, high priests of contemporary cooking, teach millions of Americans how to behave at the altar of the modern kitchen. Their vocabulary is often downright Levitical as they tell us to clean the cavity of the chicken or place the chicken skin in the pan and sear until the skin is caramelized--descriptions sure to make vegetarians shudder.
By Irwin A. Zeplowitz (Originally published in Ten Minutes of Torah and Reform Voices of Torah) My family recently bought me a portable navigation device. Before they did, I spent hours researching which one would be "best." I was interested in aesthetics (How did it look?), portability (Could I take it with me?), accessibility (Was it easy to use?), and functionality (What did it tell me?). In every age, cartographers have used similar criteria for developing their maps. We tend to think of maps as serving a simple purpose--specifically, showing us where things are located. In reality, maps have always represented a balance between various concerns. Sometimes maps convey a political or spiritual message, such as the "cloverleaf" map of Jerusalem as center of the world. Cartographers have long struggled with what to include in maps. Internet maps, for example, are sometimes more helpful when they display a satellite view. Often they are more useful if extraneous information is eliminated in favor of just required "points of interest."
By Philip Cohen (Originally published in Ten Minutes of Torah and Reform Voices of Torah) I begin with a verse from an earlier parashah in Exodus: "I the Eternal am your God who brought you out of the land of Egypt, the house of bondage" (Exodus 20:2).
God could have said any number of things at the moment the Ten Commandments were given. But God chose to remind the Israelites of their Redemption and their resulting indebtedness to the Eternal as the prologue to giving the Law.
by Larry Kaufman A Yiddish proverb has it that, as it goes in the Christian world, so it goes in the Jewish world. The informality of attire that we see in our synagogues on Shabbat (and that was addressed in Rabbi Irwin Zeplowitz's recent d'var Torah) is paralleled by what we see at the symphony and the opera and the theater. Even in business, business attire has become somewhat of an anomaly; when I appeared at my office the other day in a suit and tie, a colleague teasingly asked whether I was going for a job interview.
When I show up for Shabbat services wearing a necktie (typically with a blazer and slacks - a suit would clearly be overkill in our community), anyone who thinks about it assumes that I must be giving the d'var Torah. Jeans and sneakers are taken for granted, and when the weather gets nicer, shorts will be as well. We do tend to dress up a little more when there are b'nai mitzvah, not so much lich'vod haTorah or lich'vod haShabbat (in honor of the Torah or of the Sabbath) as in honor of the occasion.
by Irwin A. Zeplowitz (Originally published in Ten Minutes of Torahand Reform Voices of Torah) The popular television show American Idol seeks the most talented singers, hoping to promote each one as the next "superstar."There is a lot that is positive about American Idol. It is founded on the belief that there is the potential for great talent in anyone. The show allows "ordinary people"a chance they might not otherwise have to achieve the most they can in life. The success of the show has transformed the term "idol"from its original connotation of something false and deviant into something positive. Then again, perhaps the trivialization of the term "idol"is a hint to the shallowness of what popular culture truly values. The ultimate goal of American Idol, of course,is not simply to showcase talent, but to have the winner get "a major recording contract". In this, the real purpose is revealed--not fame, but fortune; not glamour, but gold.
The dramatic story of eigel hazahav, the "Golden Calf,"is at the center of this week's parashah, Ki Tisa. Commentators debate what it is that the people truly yearn for when they say to Aaron, "Come, make us a god"(elohim, literally "gods"[Exodus 32:1]). Rashi indicates that the people seek a pantheon of gods as a substitute for God. Many argue that the people are afraid because Moses has not returned from the mountain, so they want a "new Moses"(Ramban on 32:1), "someone to go before them"(Ibn Ezra on 32:1) as a leader. Others suggest that the "Israelites are demanding a god, rather than the God,"hinting that any diversion from the people's fears of abandonment is as comforting as any other (The Torah: A Women's Commentary, ed. Tamara Cohn Eshkenazi and Andrea L. Weiss [New York: URJ Press, 2008], p. 502).
by Barry Cohen (Originally published in Ten Minutes of Torahand Reform Voice of Torah) Something has always bothered me about this week's Torah portion: to regain control of the rebellious mob dancing around the Golden Calf, we engage in "righteous killing."Moses exclaims, "Whoever is for the Eternal, come here!"(Exodus 32:26). He proceeds to give instructions to the tribe of Levi to "slay sibling, neighbor, and kin"(Exodus 32:27).
On a smaller scale, such "righteous killing"had happened before, after the rape of Dinah (Genesis 33:18-34:31). Simeon and Levi massacred the perpetrators and their families. Many years later at Sinai, we kill three thousand of our own (Exodus 32:28). Arguably, if this did not happen, the story of our people could have ended in the wilderness.
by Irwin A. Zeplowitz (Originally published in Ten Minutes of Torahand Reform Voices of Torah) In discussions with pre-b'nei mitzvahstudents and parents every year, I ask how they would feel about someone attending services in ripped jeans. What about a woman wearing a dress or blouse showing cleavage? What is proper attire in a synagogue? Some claim that what a person wears is irrelevant. What matters is that they come with the desire to pray. Connection to God is not defined by what is worn. Others argue that of course it matters what a person wears. When someone has something on that most others would say is provocative or undignified, the focus is on them rather than on God.
In Hamlet, the character Polonius proclaims, "Apparel oft proclaims the man" (William Shakespeare, Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, 1.3). The only thing to add is that apparel no less proclaims the woman.
by Denise L. Eger (Originally published in Ten Minutes of Torah and Reform Voices of Torah) The priests' clothes--especially those worn by the High Priest Aaron--were more than just the special uniforms donned during the sacred service. These were holy instruments of God. The great Nachmanides points to this in his commentary and draws our attention to the words l'chavod ul'tifaret,"dignity and adornment"(see Ramban [Nachmanides] on Exodus 28:2).
Nachmanides links these words to the mystical realm, indicating that kavod, "glory," and tiferet," splendor" or "beauty" (which have the same Hebrew roots as chavod and tifaret, respectively) are associated with hod,"majesty."Kavod, tiferet, and hod are among the kabbalistic system's ten s'firot, which can mean"stages of emanation"or "attributes" of God (see Encyclopaedia Judaica, vol. 10 [Jerusalem: Keter Publishing House, 1996], p. 566). Nachmanides writes that the priestly garments are to be made so that Aaron can"minister in them to the Glory of God who dwells in their midst, and to the Splendor of their strength."
by Irwin A. Zeplowitz (Originally published in Ten Minutes of Torahand Reform Voices of Torah) This week's parashah seems, at first glance, to be a rather pedantic listing of the items needed for the construction of the Mishkan. At one level of understanding, it may simply be what it appears to be--specifically, a"shopping list" of items sought from donors. But could there be a purpose in specifying the particular kind of wood, varieties of precious metals, and colors of yarn?
Red, and blue, and purple: behold an assortment of colors with which to create a space to behold the Divine Presence. Rabbi Zeplowitz has provided a plethora of possibilities for the choice of these colors with rich and meaningful interpretations. But why offer any colors in the first place?
When I was younger, a new box of crayons would thrill me. The crayons burst with potential of what my hand, heart, and mind might concoct. There was a problem, however. I was no Rembrandt or Picasso. I couldn't even claim aspiring for the wild interpretation of a Jackson Pollack. I could only be me with my colors and attempt at creativity.
By
Larry Kaufman As a graduate student at the University of Chicago, I enrolled in a course called Studies in American Drama. At the opening session, the professor announced the name of the class, and continued, "If any of you is here under the misapprehension that this is a course in literature, get out now!" He then explained we would be looking at plays that had been popular on the American stage from the time of the Revolution to the present, examining them not for their literary value, but for what made them popular, and what the rules and conventions were that were required for their acceptance by audiences. For example, we learned that if the leading lady committed adultery in the first act, we could be certain she would die by the third.
That adultery example, you may be warned, pretty much concludes my examination of the Ten Commandments, which form a major component of this week's parasha. As a second warning, in the spirit of Dean Napier Wilt, I advise you, if you are looking for the religious or spiritual message in this segment of Holy Scripture, seek it elsewhere. But if you are expecting my usual metaphor of the Chumash as soap opera, I'll surprise you, as I instead characterize this parasha as a two-act play.
by Irwin A. Zeplowitz (Originally published in Ten Minutes of Torahand Reform Voices of Torah) This week's parashah, Mishpatim, offers a radical shift in style from all that comes before in the Torah. The focus before Mishpatim(Laws) is on the "story." In the Book of Genesis, ethical insights and ritual practices are derived from the narrative, but what's key is the familial and communal chronicle itself. In Exodus 12, there is a digression from the account of the redemption of the slaves into the laws of Passover, and at Sinai "the Ten Words" are revealed, but the story is what dominates. Here, the narrative slips into the background.
by Marcus L. Burstein (Originally published in Ten Minutes of Torahand Reform Voices of Torah) My favorite legend of the difficulty of meting out justice with compassion comes from Jewish Wisdom by Joseph Telushkin. He writes about a "possibly apocryphal story about New York City Mayor Fiorello La Guardia (1933-1945). At one time during the Depression, he was serving as a night-court judge when a woman appeared before him who had stolen food to feed her children. Desiring to satisfy the demands of both justice and mercy, La Guardia told the woman, 'I fine you ten dollars for stealing, and I fine everyone else in this courtroom, myself included, fifty cents each for living in a city where a woman is forced to steal to feed her children.' The money was immediately collected, the fine paid, and the extra money given to the woman" ([New York: William Morrow and Company, 1994] p. 399)" Even if it cannot be verified, it is a wonderful story about fulfilling the ideals of both justice and mercy in real life.
I learned about kavod habriyot (dignity for human beings) from my mother (of blessed memory). She likely did not know the Hebrew term, but she embodied the concept in her life. She spoke of the need to treat all people with equity and showed my brother and me how to be open to a diversity of people in the town where we grew up. When I was about twelve years old, I decided to put my mother's cherished beliefs to the test. I asked her how she would feel if I decided to marry a black woman. Without missing a beat she said,"I would ask you if she was Jewish." In that moment I was taught that how we interact with people must not be colored by gender, socioeconomic status, race, or ethnic background. Rather, our relationship with others should be founded on the values they embrace and the life they live.
by Jessica Goodman (Originally published in Reform Voices of Torahand Ten Minutes of Torah) As Rabbi Zeplowitz states,"Openness to others is not an advocacy for there being no separation or distinction between us." Parashat Yitroexplores the "openness" and willingness to learn about other cultures, backgrounds, and nations while still staying true to Jewish roots, culturally and religiously. In today's world it is even more important to do so. Peace cannot be achieved by war and destruction, but by words, agreements, and tolerance. In Jewish culture, non-Jews, often referred to as "goyim,"have been branded with an unshakable stigma, just as Jews have been in a non-Jewish world.
By Marge Eiseman
I wonder why the conversations I've been having lately seem to have the same underlying theme - I can talk to people in different cities, from various parts of my life, and we are all exploring the same thing. Change, creativity and trying to move out of the stuck places are the dominant themes.
One of my friends calls this "living in Torah time", and sees the conversations of the mundane as actually our sacred journey played out beyond the temporal bounds of time. The current story we are learning, Parashat B'Shallach, where we collect Joseph's bones and finally face the moment of crossing the Sea with all the attendant miracles and wonders, is an amazing meta-story for us to look at in our culture and our personal lives.
by Irwin A. Zeplowitz (Originally published in Reform Voices of Torah and Ten Minutes of Torah) What is it that Moses demands of Pharaoh? Ask most people and they will respond,"Let my people go." Indeed, in Cecil B. DeMille's retelling of the Exodus in the movie The Ten Commandments (1956), that is exactly what Charlton Heston (as Moses) does ask. The film leaves out the second half of the statement, however, a phrase that completely changes the intent. In Torah, Moses speaks but it is God who demands of Pharaoh--Shalach et ami v'yaavduni,which literally translates as"Let My people go that they may worship Me . . ." (Exodus 7:16, 7:26, 9:1, 9:13; cf. 4:23, 5:1, 6:11).
The difference between the film and the text is not just about who is speaking; it is about the very nature of the Exodus itself (remember what you were always taught--the movie is good, but the book is better!). The brief "Let my people go" implies that the ultimate goal is freedom from tyranny. This makes perfect sense coming from Hollywood and rooted in the American psyche. The United States, after all, was founded in a revolutionary attempt of a people to establish their freedom from the British Crown.
by Penny M. Kessler (Originally published in Reform Voices of Torah and Ten Minutes of Torah) A microcosm of the differences in American and Jewish perspectives on freedom can be found in comparing typical American and Jewish coming-of-age experiences.
In American culture, sixteenth birthdays typically are celebrated by declaring independence from parental transportation with a driver's license, eighteenth birthdays by registering to vote, and twenty-first birthdays in a bar. Except for the ability and privilege of participating in the democratic process at eighteen, major American age-related life-cycle events celebrate freedom from authority.
by Irwin A. Zeplowitz (Originally published on Reform Voices of Torah and Ten Minutes of Torah) Near the end of the 1999 film Magnolia, there is a frightening scene of a rain of frogs. At first humorous, it suddenly turns horrific, even deadly. The scene prompts you to ask, "Is this just a strange phenomenon, or is it related to all that has taken place?" While the movie has a series of seemingly unrelated incidents, the narrator insists that "this cannot be 'one of those things'... This was not just a matter of chance." While the film does not make clear the connection between everything that happens, there is a pervasive sense in the story that human behavior is connected to what happens in the natural world.
by Benjamin David (Originally published in Reform Voices of Torah and Ten Minutes of Torah) To be a Jew in 5769 North America is to live amidst the stretching light of religious freedom. We enjoy more access to Torah, to synagogue life, to clergy and sacred Jewish literature than any generation ever has. We are not barred from schools or political offices or high-ranking posts.
In light of this considerable light, we turn this week to a portion that reminds us of the lack of light, indeed the considerable darkness, that still covers so much of our world. In our parashah, we read the following regarding the penultimate plague: "Moses held out his arm toward the sky and thick darkness descended upon all the land of Egypt for three days. People could not see one another, and for three days no one could move about; but all the Israelites enjoyed light in their dwellings" (Exodus 10:22-23).
by Jim Ball To talk about my relationship with Shabbat, I must speak about this week's Torah portion, Vayislach.
It's a portion has a special meaning for me. Twenty-five years ago, I became a Jew, and took the Hebrew name Ya'akov. Like the place that Jacob visited in last week's Torah portion, Beth El, I was a member of Congregation Beth El in Sudbury, MA , and my Beth El, like Jacob's, was and still is, a holy place for me.
This week Jacob, returning to his birthplace and homeland, prepares to meet Esau again, something which leaves him with some trepidation. In fact, he is terrified. He and his retinue come to the River Jabbok and must cross. Having to ford this river is, of course, highly symbolic to the task of having to cross through his own fears and reluctance to meet Esau.
By Marge Eiseman
I haven't yet seen the movie "Yes Man" (and I probably won't, since Jim Carrey's energy is a bit much for me!), but it got me thinking about how we present ourselves to the world, and what factors into our essential nature.
I know people who are ruled by fear, who worry about things beyond their control and don't expect the best in any situation. Their default setting is "No!" They don't seek new experiences, and they don't see life as a blessing, or have a sense of how they could bring blessing into the world.
By Marge Eiseman I have been dwelling in Parashat VaYetsei this week, in preparation for leading a D'var Torah at the Harry & Rose Samson JCC in Milwaukee on Wednesday night. I read through it, line by line, and when I got to the end, I realized that by now, with years of Torah study under my belt, I had already read and "knew" every single part of the story.
I knew about Jacob leaving Beer-Sheva traveling towards Harran, and resting for the night in the certain place -- HaMakom. I knew he put his head on a stone pillow and dreamt the dream of angels ascending and descending a ladder to heaven. I remembered the promise that God made to him in that dream, and what he said on awakening.
by Larry Kaufman Toldot was my bar mitzvah parashah, but in my Conservative synagogue, the whole emphasis was on chanting the haftarah - comprehension of the content and translation of the text was not on anybody's mind, and certainly not on mine. Today, I approach texts with only enough Hebrew to frequently be dissatisfied with the translations supplied in my collection of Torah commentaries. Toldot, all these years after my first encounter with it, is no exception.
by Larry Kaufman This news just in - the Brits are making a movie based on the parashah Chayei Sarah. They're calling it Two Weddings and Two Funerals. The Israeli version will add the six britot- milah for Abraham's sons by Wife Number Three, Keturah, and will be called Hatching, Matching and Dispatching.
Seriously, though, how ironic it is that a sedrah called The Life of Sarah begins with her death and burial! Her death is treated very matter-of-factly in the text, and has been the subject of much rabbinic speculation tying her demise to her dismay over the Akedah, the binding of Isaac. While there's nothing definitive in the previous parashah about where she was while Abraham and Isaac were out mountain climbing, we learn a lot about the real estate negotiation that acquired her final resting place at Kiryat Arba. Some say Abraham particularly wanted this location for the family plot, because he knew it to be the spot where Adam and Eve were entombed!
By Andi L. Rosenthal When I was four years old, I learned how to make the Sign of the Cross. As a pre-kindergarten student at the Immaculate Conception School, I was taught that this was a necessary practice to begin and end any conversation we wished to have with God. We were to use this rite any time we needed to talk to God - to give thanks, to pray for help or healing, or even just to ask a question. I remember clearly how the nuns walked up and down the rows of desks, painstakingly correcting each child as they sought to master the choreography of the ritual - the slight touching of the forehead, then the space right below the heart, first left, then right. As a child, it fascinated me that this tiny ceremony was akin to picking up the phone, or in these days, opening up a text window to send an email. Just ask the question, we were taught, and you will receive an answer.
So it was with great interest and excitement that I read Rabbi Jack Bloom's article in the latest edition of Reform Judaism magazine. Perhaps because I learned from a very young age that the signs and wonders of God's creation were all around us, or perhaps because I was taught to share my desk with a guardian angel, I found Rabbi Bloom's article to be not nearly as controversial as some would perceive.
Taught as we are that we are made b'tzelem Elohim, in the image of God, we are more likely to look in the mirror than in the Torah to develop our picture. I find more truth than poetry in the story of the little boy huddled with his crayons over a sheet of paper, whose mother asks what he is doing. "I'm drawing a picture of God," he replies. "But Sammy," his mother remonstrates, "nobody knows what God looks like." "Of course not," says Sammy. "I'm not done yet."
We must begin at the end. Each year for the high holidays at my childhood synagogue, Congregation Or Ami in Southern California, the largest torah comes out of the ark with a broken, burnt and perfect breastplate. The intricate design of this half destroyed piece of sacred art adorns the torah before hundreds of worshipers and defiantly provides peace to everyone in the congregation, especially my mother.
About ten years ago, when we were helping to start Congregation Or Ami, my mother traveled to Boston to visit family and stopped by her childhood synagogue. She spoke to the rabbi and told her with great excitement about our new adventure building a sacred community in our little corner of the Valley. We were starting a religious school, youth groups, adult education courses and lively worship opportunities, she explained to the rabbi. The rabbi had a pretty good idea why she came: my mom came to ask for the breastplate, the broken burnt and perfect breastplate, that had adorned Temple Ohabei Shalom's torah for nearly two generations. The rabbi said of course.
On November 10, 1938 my grandfather was forced to shovel the ashes of his childhood synagogue as his neighbors watched. Meppen, Germany was still smoky in the morning after the night of the broken glass. Since the time of the Spanish Inquisition, my grandfather's family lived in this small village in North Western Germany in relative peace with its non-Jewish population. My family ran the dried goods store, was active in the Jewish community and respected the law of the land. But on that night 70 years ago, generations were destroyed by the torches and stones of a mob motivated by a mad man.
read MORE
By William Berkson In response to several of my posts in critique of the current state of Reform theology, fellow RJ blogger Larry Hoffman has said that he views the glass as 'half full', as opposed to my 'half empty'. So while good changes are always welcome, we are in pretty good shape. In particular, he has pointed to the fact that Reform movement is growing in numbers, while the Conservative movement is shrinking.
This last fact is indeed true, but it masks grave problems. That is because the "glass" is leaking, according to what I have read. Right now I can't put my hand on the sources, but I have read that a significant part of the increase comes from formerly Conservative Jews joining Reform Synagogues. And I believe that if you take away these, the numbers of Reform Jews have actually shrunk. Hopefully someone here can correct me if I got this wrong. But I believe what is happening is that those who are raised in a Conservative synagogue marry either a Reform Jew or intermarry, and then they join a Reform synagogue, where their spouse feels more at home or more welcome.
If a man is alone on a desert island, is he still wrong? And is the condition of a man alone on a desert island comparable to that of Adam in the Garden of Eden before Eve is created?
The dvar Torah on B'reshit this morning at our Kahal was given by a professor of speech, who pointed out that God created the world with words: Let there be light, let us create man in our image, etc. He further reminded us that in Creation Version 2, Adam is tasked with naming the animals. And he called attention to two different accounts of the creation of woman - in Version 1, she is simultaneous, in Version 2, she comes later when God realizes that Adam needs someone to talk to, besides the Divine Self. (I choose this term in the interest of gender neutrality, since if God created humans male and female, AND in the Divine image, God's gender duality goes with the territory.)
By Andi Rosenthal This morning, my weekly Torah study group, along with thousands of b'nei mitzvah children all over the world, began the Torah over again. The beginning comes, in my opinion, at the exact perfect moment, when the chill in the air and the gorgeous vibrant leaves and the deep azure of the Sound all bring the beauty of G-d's handiwork into sharp focus. It's as if, no matter what troubles or joys you are facing, you simply have to notice what a beautiful world we live in. And as a writer, very few narratives intrigue me as much as our sacred story of creation. Bereshit bara Elohim et hashamayim v'et ha'aretz - in the beginning, G-d created the heavens and the earth - is one of those perfect first lines - in fact, it is THE perfect first line. And I think any writer worth their keyboard would agree.
By William Berkson As I wrote in the last post in this series, because in Reform our sacred texts are no longer regarded as authoritative, the "Reasons for the Mitzvot", ta'amei hamitzvot, have moved from being incidental to being central. In Reform, the reasons for the mitzvot become standards for interpreting, accepting, rejecting, and modifying the mitzvot as expressed in our sacred literature.
That is why I have been alarmed by the latest turn in Reform thinking, as seen in the 1999 Pittsburgh Principles and in Rabbi Richard Levy's A Vision of Holiness, which expands on the Principles. For in this discussion, the predominant philosophy seems to be, as I said, Romantic Individualism. We as individuals 'try on' mitzvot to see if they are spiritually uplifting, and as part of our 'dialogue' with God we are moved to practice the mitzvot or not.
By David A.M. Wilensky (First published on The Reform Shuckle) (A follow-up of sorts to William Berkson's post about commandedness) A Shabat morning with Chavurat Lamdeinu, progressive non-denominational minyan extraordinaire, is always full of oddities, whether it's just the assortment of people or the comments made throughout the service. This week was no different, except that this week's major oddity was a fantastic education in obscure litrugical rules and a perfect example of what bothers me about the way we Reform Jews threat our prayers.
When I arrived to services this morning, Tanach study had just wrapped up so a few people had just left. Unfortunately, not enough showed up to replace them. I was the ninth person to arrive for services, making today's crowd a small one, even for us.
By Larry Kaufman My uncle Sidney Pazol was a dropout from Hebrew Union College, who later found himself a secular rabbinate as the leader of a Great Books discussion group. He told me once about-can we call her his congregant?-Mrs. Guggenheim, who came regularly to the sessions, but who never participated in the conversation, no matter how hard he tried to engage her.
Plato? Mrs. G had nothing to say. St. Thomas Aquinas? Mrs. G had nothing to say. Certainly, Uncle Sid thought, she would have something to say when they came to Macbeth-everybody has an opinion about Macbeth--but again, nothing. Finally, he turned to her and asked point blank what she had thought of the play. "Well," she replied, "I don't understand what makes this a great book - it's just a bunch of famous quotations strung together."
Although Kaplan emerged from the Conservative movement, and taught for decades at its Jewish Theological Seminary, there is no gainsaying the impact of his thought on Reform rabbis and thus on the general theology/cosmology/sociology of the Reform movement. One thing I had not known about Kaplan until this recent bout of Internet research was that he had begun his career in an Orthodox pulpit, and had been a founder of Young Israel, a Modern Orthodox movement that was subsequently party to his excommunication and that has essentially expunged his name from its history.
Let me propose to you today that, by God, we Reform Jews need a new name. Keep reading for more.
Names are important to us Jews. God gets different names ascribed to him throughout the Torah and many believe each name to be reflection of God's different aspects, the idea that when God does thing X, his name is Y, and when he does thing A, his name is B. And if he were to repeat A later, B would be his name again. But there is one inaccessible, inpronouncable name of God, which we are told is his all-important real name. This could be compared to the fact I might be called Blogger when I blog and Shaliach Tzibur when I lead services, but truly my personal name is David.
By Larry Kaufman At a leadership development workshop, the temple board (not my congregation) was discussing Rabbi Lawrence Kushner's article The Tent Peg Business. Rabbi Kushner posits that synagogues exist to facilitate the performance of what he calls primary Jewish acts, Torah study, worship, and good deeds -- while pointing out that the activists in the synagogue tend to get caught up with the secondary acts of running the photocopy machine, or running a bake sale, or drawing up a budget.
There's nothing intrinsically wrong with performing the secondary acts -- Pirke Avot (Ethics of the Fathers) reminds us Im eyn kemach eyn Torah, im eyn Torah, eyn kemach -- if there is no material substance, there can be no Torah; if there is no Torah, there is no substance.
By William Berkson Several on this forum have looked back to "Classical Reform" somewhat wistfully, admiring the clear sense of direction and the passion and confidence that Reform Judaism had in that period. And by implication, some feel that that clear direction is lacking now. And I agree. Yet the current muddle I believe has its roots in a fundamental mistake that was made during the Classical Reform period.
By David A.M. Wilensky Yesterday a post by Rabbi Joel R. Schwartzman appeared on this blog titled "Ten More Minutes of Torah." It was a response to Lewis M. Barth's recent Ten Minutes of Torah for Masei, in which Barth argued that the current Haftarah cycle of three haftarot of destruction followed by seven haftarot of consolation suggest that Reform Judaism should reassess its relationship with Tishah B'Av. Rabbi Schwartzman's post expressed strong discomfort with this idea.
Rabbi Schwartzman's first argument is typical of Reform Jews who are uncomfortable with even talking about the Temple in a Reform context. He tells us that, "Given the importance of the Temple in the Conservative and Orthodox movements, whether spiritually or practically, we Reformists would do well to consider exactly what we would be tying onto ourselves were we to adopt Tishah B'Av observances."
By Marge Eiseman Some of my friends seem to have a lot of drama in their lives. They are either really up or down, and find the middle way quite boring. Another (more rational) friend and I were talking about the place of drama in our lives - and I was filtering this through my recent experience in training to become a Storahtelling Maven.
By Rabbi Joel R. Schwartzman In this week's comment on the parashat hashavuah (weekly Torah portion), in Ten Minutes of Torah, Professor Barth suggests that for the sake of the Haftarot that appear this time of year and are centered on Tishe B'Av (the Ninth of Av) that we in the Reform movement might re-consider observing this day as well.
While not a Classical Reformer myself and while I can appreciate the devastation that the destructions of the First and Second Temples meant to the Jewish people, I am not taken with the idea to instate this day into my Reform calendar.
By David A.M. Wilensky Two summers ago, here at Kutz, a girls' cabin led services one day. As we all entered the tron, they were standing at the front singing and clapping their hands. The song goes like this:
Lord, prepare me To be a sanctuary Pure and holy Tried and true With thanksgiving I'll be a living Sanctuary for you
It's a nice song. The message is fairly basic and unobjectionable. The tune is catchy and sounds slightly gospel. I like it. Since then, I've also heard a variation that incoporates a quote from Torah, "V'asu li Mikdash, v'shachanti b'tocham" ("Build me a sanctuary and I will dwell amongst you"). I like that version even better. When people found out that this verse of song is actually part of a larger song from the wonderful world on contemporary Christian music, they went nuts.
By William Berkson Ok, folks. I'm peeved. I'm just curious if others are irritated by this kind of thing. Last week Dr. James Dobson said that Sen. Barack Obama was deliberately distorting "the traditional interpretation of the Bible" when he pointed out that the plain reading of Leviticus prohibits eating shellfish, and that the Defense Department would have a problem with Jesus' Sermon on the Mount. Sen. Obama's point was that political leaders would be wiser by not being sectarian in their arguments for public policy--which I thought was a pretty good point.
By William Berkson In the first installment, I argued that Judaism shouldn't try to do without God, because then it will lack the power to inspire us. That raises the question of whether modern science leaves open the door to God, to religion.
There is still a strong movement that says science has superseded religion. This movement, known as "positivism" started with Auguste Comte (1798-1857). Comte had the theory that there were historical three stages in the development of understanding of the world: religious, then metaphysical, then scientific or "positive." Science should sweep aside all religious and metaphysical explanations, and scientific theories of society, in particular, would advance humanity to an ideal condition.
Originally, the idea that the world consists only of "atoms and the void," and lacks any guiding purpose had been championed by the Epicurus (341-270 BCE). The Epicureans were unique in the ancient world in denying Providence--that God, or many gods, had a guiding influence on humanity. For that reason, the Jewish sages condemned them and said, "Know what to answer to an Epicurean." (Avot 2:19) Because there are leading scientists who still champion the idea that science has superseded religion, "knowing what to answer" is still a vital issue.
By Larry Kaufman It's the custom in our congregation for the person who presents the d'var Torah to pose questions for discussion by the kahal, the community. Leading the discussion on Shelach Lecha, I noted that this parashah includes the commandment to wear fringes, a commandment that was essentially negated in Reform Judaism by the Pittsburgh Platform of 1885, the negation remaining in force for well over a hundred years.
By David Fair The Reform Movement in America is well over a hundred years old. In that time, our movement has developed and expanded many customs and ways of life that reflect a culture, rich with tradition and background. Yet it's a rare week when I don't hear one of our congregational leaders give a sermon where we are not compared to the more conservative movements of Judaism. What I hear the most is how we are justified in not following the Conservative and Orthodox customs of Kashrut, Shabbat, fasting holidays, and the like.
By William Berkson As I was writing my second post on Israel and the Jewish community worldwide, the outstanding journalist and real 'mensh' Tim Russert dropped dead. And he was younger than me. That made me think: I'd better start posting first on what I think is most important. So here will start a series of posts laying out a vision of how to strengthen Reform Judaism. I would love your comments on where you think I am going right or wrong with this vision, and what you'd add or change.
Digital Torah
June 11, 2008
(11 Comments)
Over the past 22 months, Cantor Alane Katzew, director of Music Programming for the Union, has headed a project to digitally record every line of the Torah. Using the same cantillation and tone throughout the entire project of the 5,845 verses, Cantor Katzew and her 22 expert chanters completed the project the Friday before Shavuot.
Cantor Penny Kessler, one of the chanters, is pictured (right) in the "Cantor-in-a-box" recording studio at the Union's offices in New York.
Press play to hear a digital recording about the digitization of the Torah.
By Laurence Kaufman We have segued to the Book of Numbers, or in Hebrew, BaMidbar, in the wilderness. The English name is a response to the census that is the focus of the first parasha. The Hebrew name, beyond referring to the first substantive word of the text, is an overview of the book as a whole, reflecting both the physical setting in which the action takes place, and the emotional wilderness of uncertainty, rebelliousness, jealousy, and other tensions that shape the action. Our wonderful new Women's Torah Commentary alerts us to the inherent contradiction of the Hebrew and the English names for the book - the English stressing the order that is imposed by counting, the Hebrew introducing the chaos our ancestors will experience en route to their new reality.
By William Berkson Our society is now filled with anger, and with angry people who see their expressions of anger as positive, even courageous.
The most dramatic example has been the harsh anger of Reverend Wright, particularly at the National Press Club. But we also have the daily rage of some radio and television talk shows, where it is practically a communal ritual. Viewers join in an orgy of rage against those they view as misguided or wicked, adding daily to the list of grievances, of reasons to be angry.
The point of the comedy film Anger Management (2003) was to ridicule the notion of anger management. The problem of the lead character, Adam Sandler, is that he can't get angry and is too meek. 'Doctor' Jack Nicholson 'cures' him by provoking him mercilessly throughout the film until he loses his temper, gets enraged and stands up for himself. Again, rage is seen as a healthy step to courage and proper self-assertion. This 'pneumatic' theory of anger seems to have originated with Freud: repress anger and it will pop up another way and harm you; "get it out" and you will become healthier of mind.
Wisdom books of the Bible and the Sages have quite a different view, seeing anger as dangerous and foolish.
Jews are supposed to follow 613 mitzvot (commandments from God). Some make sense, while others seem antiquated and irrelevant. For an art installation to debut at DAWN, a special event for the grand opening of the San Francisco Contemporary Jewish Museum, we'll be creating an interactive environment involving the mitzvot and your creative reinterpretations.
By laying out all 613 commandments and asking for revisions, DAWN and Jewcy are taking a huge risk. Some of the re-writes are very funny while others are pretty serious, but they are quite literally re-writing the Torah. I will be interested to see how the instillation is received by the more conservative aspects of our community. If anyone makes it out to the event on June 7th let me know how it went.
I don’t study these texts to discover God’s overt or hidden messages, or to discover history in the form of documented fact. Rather, I study these human documents to discover the plain meanings of the words, the problems inherent in discerning these meanings, and, most important, the insights into human behavior—then and now—which underlie the words.
For example, there is great wisdom in the Joseph story. We learn that suffering can teach us wisdom if we choose to learn, as did Joseph. Joseph was sold into slavery by his brothers, carried to Egypt, accused of attempted rape by Potiphar, and imprisoned. Jacob’s spoiled, arrogant, favored son became a slave, then master of Potiphar’s household, then again a prisoner.
I am a Mexican American and a Jew by Choice. My extended family, both my mom and dad’s families, were all Central Valley farm workers. At the age of 14 I worked for the United Farm Workers, setting up and participating in corporate grocery store chain picket lines. As a high school student I marched in the streets of Modesto against the Gallo Wine company’s practice of hiring nonunion labor at below the union wage to work in the grapevine fields in deplorable conditions.
That same year, 1972, I wrote a letter to then California Assembly Speaker Leo McCarthy, who was authoring a bill to make it illegal for companies to hire children under 14 to work in the fields. I knew this issue well because starting at age of seven I’d been cutting grapes from the vines outside Fresno, working eight hours a day in the hot sun and earning about $3 a week. As a result of my letter, I was invited to testify in Sacramento, and I am proud to say that the bill passed.
That experience transformed me. I have been an activist ever since.
It's a portion has a special meaning for me. Twenty-five years ago, I became a Jew, and took the Hebrew name Ya'akov. Like the place that Jacob visited in last week's Torah portion, Beth El, I was a member of 
