Chukat 5774 - June 26, 2014

Chukat 5774

(By Rabbi Dardik - published in this week's issue of "J")

While I have known that this moment would come one day, I cannot say that I have looked forward to it.   I have been waiting for twenty years (one could say two thousand years) to the life that will come after, but not to this particular instant. 

You see, it is time for me to say farewell.  After thirteen years in the Bay Area and just shy of four decades in the US, I am moving home to Israel this summer, to a home that has never been my home.  I love my Oakland shul-community family and my Bay Area life, and in any conventional sense Israel is a foreign country to me.  I was born and raised an American, to American parents.  I grew up here, went to school here, made my dearest friends here, married here and raised my family here.  It doesn’t stem from a desire to leave, but rather a yearning of the soul to be there.  To ascend on Aliyah.  I may not be Israeli, but I guess I am one of the Children of Israel.

My heart has long broken for Moshe in this week's Torah portion.  Something goes wrong, and he is told that “You will not lead this people into the land that I have given them” (20:12).  Moshe pleads with Hashem to allow him to fulfill the mitzvah of living in Israel or even just to step into it for a moment, but he is rebuffed and only allowed to stand on a mountaintop and peer into the land.  Just like that, Moshe’s dream was crushed.

But what happened?  The narrative does not make it clear.  Rashi surmises from discrepancies in the text that Moshe did not follow directions properly, and hit the rock from which water flowed instead of speaking to it.  Rambam notes that the wording (20:10) indicates that Moshe got angry at the people, and his anger was his undoing.

There is another explanation (Midrash Rabbah Devarim 2:8) that caught my eye.  Moshe, carrying Joseph’s bones through the desert in order to bury those remains in Israel, tries to convince Hashem to let him into Israel.  “Master of the Universe, the bones of Joseph are entering the Land.  Am I not to enter the Land?”  Hashem responds that “He who acknowledged his native land is to be buried in that land but he who did not acknowledge his native land does not merit to be buried in his land.”  The Midrash then points out the verses in the Torah where Joseph identified himself publicly as a Jew (Bereishit 39:14 and 40:15).  In contrast, Moshe allowed himself to be identified as an Egyptian man (Shemot 2:19) and as a result did not make it to the homeland that he had never lived in. 

But why does Moshe's classification as an Egyptian have any impact on his ability to enter the land?  Perhaps because as Jews we connect not only horizontally in the present with our people across the world today, but also vertically back through the millennia.  Human beings are not born in a vacuum, and much as we like to consider ourselves to be self-made we are also impacted by our pasts.  An integral part of being a Jew is identifying with our history.  We spent thousands of years trying to build a model society in Israel, at the crossroads of three continents.  And it is the epicenter of our present and future attempts to do so.  Moshe was connecting to the Jewish present, but had forgotten to reach back into the past to the roots of his identity.

Every so often, I look in the mirror and ask myself, “Am I crazy?  My Beth Jacob and Bay Area Rabbi life journey has been amazing.  Incredible opportunities to learn and teach and share with spectacular people, phenomenal education and environment for my children, and the natural beauty doesn't hurt, either. What in the world am I doing?" 

But it doesn't take long to answer: The ultimate human purpose is to live a meaningful life.  Life here has indeed been deeply meaningful, and has readied me to immerse myself and my family once and for all into the Jewish past, present and future.  After nearly twenty centuries, I could become the last immigrant in my family tree.  I can live out my most cherished values in a place where I experience a heightened sense of Hashem’s presence.  Moshe was denied this dream, but it has never been easier than it is in 2014.  It's time.  Thank you all for years of reading and allowing me to share; this fall I will be teaching Torah in the old city of Jerusalem (with a beautiful view of the Western Wall) and would love to run into you there one day. 

Parsha Shelach - June 14, 2014

Parsha: Shelach

Date: June 14,2014

By: Dan Cohen

A very mini-drash in honor of the OHDS Graduates 

(and each of you)

With apologies to those who heard this at the OHDS graduation earlier this week, please indulge a quick thought and prayer for each of you and for all of our community’s graduates.

This week’s parsha, Shelach, highlights one of the early moments in which the Jewish people’s doubts about G-d delivering us into Israel leads to disastrous outcomes.  In the parsha, Moses is convinced to send scouts into the land of Israel.  The cycle of deceit, despair, and slow destruction of an entire generation of Jews that follows is well-documented.

However, on the positive side, I was moved by an idea from Rabbi Ephy Greene. When Moses commanded the spies to explore the land, one of the things he tells them to look for is, “HaYesh Bah Etz Im Ayin”, “Is there a tree there…” (Numbers 13:20)

Rashi explains that this tree is a metaphor for a righteous person. But why? 

Rashi adds that just like a tree provides shade, so too this Tzaddik will protect the people of the land. In our own lives, we know that a truly righteous person can impact the lives of many and when we act in a righteous manner, there is no limit to the impact we can have on others.

However, the metaphor goes even deeper. Man’s potential, our potential, for growth and positive, productive activity is also comparable to the tree that the parsha cites. The Maharal writes that man is called Adam from the word Adamah or Earth.  And that from the earth we can grow and bear fruit. 

For our graduates (from OHDS and every institution), my prayer is that you have set strong roots, and that the fruit – the potential – is yet to come.   For each of you, the opportunity and challenge remains to continue to grow, to find moments (however brief) to be more like a Tzaddik, and to share the fruits of our positive impacts with as many people as we can.

Parsha Behaalotchah: June 7, 2014

Parsha: Behaalotchah

Date: June 7,2014

By: Michal Kohane

How can we understand the great spiritual opening of this parasha, the lighting of the Menorah, juxtaposed with beginning of the first “new” sins in the desert, the people complaining, the desire for meat, the words spoken against Moses? Is this parasha just a bunch of separate details that happen to go into the same reading, or does it actually make sense to put them together?

Exactly this week, one family in our shul marks an amazing “yahrzeit”: For Sophia and Boris Burshtyen it’s been 26 years since their own yetziat mitzrayim, their own family’s Exodus from Russia. Sophia, who was 26 at the time, says: “and starting tomorrow, I will be here longer than there… finally!”

What is it like to experience the Exodus in first person? Hearing this story can help us understand the journey of long ago:

“… back then, 26 years ago, we are getting ready for a big move to a faraway beautiful land of freedom and opportunities... So excited to leave the hateful place and start in a new and promising place! But also, frightened to leave a well-known, familiar place and move to the completely unknown, unfamiliar one.

Our family was not the only one on this Exodus. There were so many leaving, you could hear it everywhere: ‘where are you going? when? how long did you wait? 10 years? just few months? Wow’... The perfect time to apply, our “pharaoh” was forced to open the gate, and “let my People go”. 

Just like the Children of Israel of so long ago, we were told: ‘Can’t take many things with you, just few belongings, the rest must be left behind’ and not only things but also friends, traditions, customs, and places...  Luckily, our family was allowed to go together - a husband, a baby (oblivious to the grandiose move), parents, sister’s family and the grandmother of 84, the leader of the crew.

Finally, one day, we got on the plane and left but have not arrived yet... We had an extended waiting period in Europe where we would need to go through preparation and a long wait. There are many rules on how to leave the place but there are many more on how to enter a new one.  There are questions to answer, forms to fill out, tests to take, culture to learn… understand who we are and who we are not but most importantly, know when to blend in and when not to.

Some of us want to use this time to travel, be tourist. Look! We’re in Europe! Others prefer to wait and get ready. The preparation period is a must but how long can it last? How long the learning should continue? Soon, excitement and patience are running down, boredom is rising up. There is nothing to do, no certainty regarding the future, and soon no privacy. We’re crowded together, and while we know the place we left was not perfect, it was also known and familiar and definitely not boring.  Actually, the further we get, the better our memories of our old home. And remember, we had privacy back there! Everybody was not so aggravating, and aggravated!! Look at us now, there is no privacy here, people are everywhere, it’s crowded and we have to share rooms and bathrooms; there is nothing to talk about but repeat the same talks all the time; there is nowhere to go but take the same walks; and the food! Yes, we’re thankful. It is provided and good but oh, so different and so plain! When are we going to get there already”?!

We hear the echo of Bnai Israel in this story and the idea of “in every generation”. What about the lighting of the Menorah in the opening verses?

This parasha is called “Beha’alotcha”. Most English versions translate it into “when you light the Menorah”, but Beha’alotcha shares its root with al – up or on top, and aliya – going up and also being called to the Torah or immigrating to Israel. As we heard above, the complexities and challenges of such a journey are immense and should not be underestimated. In spite of the initial excitement, it is possible to lose the bigger picture. Our mind is easily manipulated, wandering elsewhere. We need something we can hold on to in front of us; something to inspire us along the way. Then as today, the lighting of the Menorah was not only a matter of bringing “light”, but a calling to keep the focus “up”.

Shabbat Shalom. 

Parsha Nasso, May 29, 2014

Parsha: Nasso (2014)

By: Joel Ackerman

A Human Miracle?

            The Torah is replete with miracles performed by G-d for the Israelites – both while in the desert (Bamidbar) and in Israel.  This parasha describes an event that could be considered a miracle performed by humans – the leaders (“princes”) of the Israelite tribes.

            Imagine this scene.  You visit a synagogue in which you have never been before.  In general the synagogue looks much the same as others you know.  There is a beautifully designed aron (ark) that contains Torahs wrapped in fine velvet mantles.  The curtain in front of the ark and coverings for the reading tables are similarly of fine velvet.   In the walls are beautiful windows.   Everything looks and feels familiar, but something seems a bit odd – a little off. 

After a while, it occurs to you what seems strange.    There are no decorations on the Torah mantles or other velvet materials.  And none is inscribed with the name of a donor or a person in whose honor or memory the item was donated.  The same is true of the windows.  There are no plaques on the walls noting any donation.  Just to be sure, you check the siddurim around you.  There are no faceplates with names of donors or honorees.

            You feel that this congregation must be composed of amazing individuals.   No one seems to have needed to see his or her name prominently displayed.  They must all have been able to subsume their egos to support a common purpose – hiddur mitzvah for the synagogue.   A human-performed miracle?

            This week’s parasha describes what seems to be a similar “miracle” - the presentation of gifts by the nasiim (“princes”) of the tribes at the dedication of the mishkan.   First they jointly present the mundane gifts of oxen and wagons to carry the parts of the mishkan.    Then, each nasi has the opportunity to present his individual gifts – one on each of twelve consecutive days. 

            The twelve nasiim presented identical gifts – a silver bowl weighing 130 shekels, a silver basin weighing 70 shekels, both filled with a meal-offering, a gold ladle weighing ten shekels filed with incense, and specified numbers of animals for sacrifices.    According to the Midrash the bowls, basins and ladles weighed exactly the same, so that if all were melted down the resulting amount of silver or gold metal would be exactly twelve times the weight of one item.   And, in addition, one might have expected that the princes would have decorated their items differently or inscribed their names or the names of their tribes on these items.  But no – again, the Midrash teaches that all the bowls, all the basins and all the ladles were exactly alike.  And this was no accident – it was done intentionally, by agreement of the nasiim.

            The Midrash credits this accomplishment to Netanel ben Tzuar, nasi of the tribe of Issachar, who was scheduled to present his gift on the second day.  According to the story, he saw the gift planned by the first to present (Nachshon ben Amminadav of Judah) and decided to present an identical gift so as not to upstage his predecessor, and not to start a cascade of ever-increasing gifts, with the last nasi feeling it would be necessary to bring the most elaborate, most expensive, gift.

            Rav Yissocher Frand explains it thusly:

            “He reasoned as follows:  We know our own nature.  Everyone will argue that his offering was better.  This will lead to lashon hara and hatred and jealously.  We know our nature.  So he did a tremendous thing.  He brought – exactly – the same offering.  He set the tone – everyone is the same.”

            Now, knowing human nature, it seems reasonable that this was not all that Netanel ben Tzuar did to maintain peace among the tribes.   It seems to me that it would not have been enough for him to have decided to bring exactly the same gift as Nachshon.   He probably still would have had to convince ten other nasiim to go along, and to agree on what the gifts would be; ten other leaders with their own personalities, their own egos and their own ideas about gift-giving.  And perhaps Moses had to be involved in these discussions.   Because Moses and the Kohanim would have to agree that they could use twelve of each item.  Otherwise they would have to accept gifts that were superfluous - with a straight face – and then figure out what they were going to do with them.

            And so the mishkan was constructed and equipped by the community, in a totally community-focused way.   The mishkan itself was made from raw materials donated by the overall community – wood, metal, fabrics, wool, skins, etc., that were made into the necessary objects by Bezalel and Oholiav and their many helpers.   Any object was made from materials donated by many individuals – no one could point to anything and say “This was made from materials given by me.”   And a Kohen or Levite using one of the bowls, basins or ladles would have no idea which prince, which tribe, had contributed it. 

            Such an overall sublimation of egos - a miracle performed by humans?  Feel free to decide.

Parsha Emor: May 3, 2014

Parsha Emor

3 Iyar /May 3

By: Michal Kohane

If perchance you scratch your head because you forgot one of the Torah holidays, fear not! There is one chapter where you can find them all: Leviticus 23, in the heart of the Torah portion of Emor. As we read the list, we notice that the Biblical holidays started with Pesach and ended with Shmini Atzeret – spanning the six months from spring and summer to fall. No winter holidays. All together – seven (7) holidays, including Shabbat, Pesach, Shavuot, Rosh Hashana, Yom Kippur, Sukkot & Shmini Atzeret.

And in between them, we find the following commandment:

"וספרתם לכם ממחרת השבת, מיום הביאכם את עומר התנופה, שבע שבתות תמימות תהיינה, עד ממחרת השבת השביעית, תספרו חמישים יום"...

“And you shall count unto you from the morrow after the day of rest, from the day that you brought the sheaf of the waving; seven weeks shall there be complete; even unto the morrow after the seventh week shall you number fifty days”… (23:15-16).

This, of course, is the counting of the Omer where we are now: seven weeks of seven days from Pesach and Shavuot. Time has seen us add numerous explanations and customs, and even holidays to the sfira, the count. All the “Israel days” are concentrated here; as kids, growing up in Israel, we were particularly religious about Lag Ba’omer, celebrating it with grand bonfires for which wood (very precious in Israel!) was collected (not to mention sometimes stolen) weeks in advance. This was in honor of Bar Kochva (the hero), Rabbi Akiva and the great revolt following the Temple’s destruction (we were not told of the disastrous results of this revolt…). Special minhagim were kept during the sfira: no shaving, no weddings (except on Lag Ba’omer).

And somehow, between it all, the original injunction of the sfira, was a little (to say the least) lost.

As I understand it, the sfira, first of all, is supposed to help us connect between Pesach and Shavuot; between the exodus and the time of giving of the Torah; between the wow of liberation and the reason of that liberation, or else we’d still be running “free” in the desert. The sfira is a countdown (count-up?) to a special event, like waiting for a birthday, a big trip, a gift; something we expect excitedly; something without which we would be going nowhere with no purpose at all.

And, the sfira also reminds us that things don’t happen all at once, that things take time, and a process, sort of like creation. After all, G-d can do anything, so why take six days to create the world? Can’t he just say “poof” and ‘let there be world’?? Why break it down to light and dirt and plants and various animals? Maybe to teach us that good things take time; that in order to build something real and beautiful, there is a course to go through, like a spiritual pregnancy. We can’t plant a seed and expect a blooming flower and fruit ripening on the tree the next day. The seed has to rot in the ground, going through a process that many of us would consider disgusting, until a beautiful flower comes out. We can’t be born and immediately start hiking; we can’t be slaves, and get the Torah immediately.

Sometimes we forget, especially nowadays, when we’re bombarded with slogans for immediate gratification, everything from “peace now” to fast food, we want whatever it is, yesterday. We want others to guess our needs and give it to us sooner rather than later, before we have even figured it out ourselves.

But the Torah says – the journey itself takes precedence to reaching the destination: “im bechukotai telchu”– if you (just) walk in accordance to my law”…  (26:3). each step along the way is a goal in itself, which we can’t do without. Like children, we count: One. Two…. Twelve… Twenty one... Thirty Three... We need each piece to complete the puzzle, even if we don’t always see the whole picture right away. We learn patience and structure and putting things together.

In Genesis, we hear about Abraham who was “ba bayamim” (Genesis 24:1). “Ba bayamim” is a figure of speech which means advanced in years, but it literally means ‘comes in the days,’ or better ‘comes with one’s days.’ That means, said the sages, that when he was coming and going, he still had all his days; he still knew exactly what he did yesterday, and the day before, and a year ago, And since he managed to make each day meaningful, he came with all of them.

And so it is with us. We’re still taught to count. We need to count every day because every day counts.

Shabbat Shalom.

Parsha Kedoshim - April 26, 2014

Parsha Kedoshim

26 Nissan /April 26

By: David Carasso

How many holy people are there in the world? How many of them can you specifically identify? How many do you know personally? How many are your friends? Are you one of them?

And Hashem spoke with Moshe, saying, “Speak with the entire community of the Children of Israel, and say to them, ‘You shall be holy, for I -- Hashem, your God -- am holy.” -- Lev 19:1

R. Moshe Alshech (Tzfat d.1593) said that people view this requirement as almost optional. They see a life of holiness as belonging to a select few, people with rare spiritual qualities and the outstanding mental capacity needed to become a great Torah scholar. Perhaps one or two people in a generation are able to lead a holy life.

But the Torah says, No. Every single Jew is obligated to elevate himself, adding dignity, nobility, and sensitivity to his life.  You, me, the people around your table, your shul, your nation. Every single one of us. I'm looking at you, David Carasso.

So what is this life of holiness? Does it mean fasting, asceticism, extra prohibitions, and withdrawing from society? Yes! OK, No, it is the opposite: a life of holiness is one where we grasp the world Hashem put us in, people and all, and proceed to live in it, actively and enthusiastically, with wisdom, kindness, and understand.

In the parsha from two weeks ago, Aharon’s two sons approached Hashem in the most isolated, separated, holy location -- the Holy of Holies -- and died. That is not for us. Yes, we also should connect with God, but not by isolating ourselves from the people. (Kohen Gadols, please ignore). Connect with God, yes, but not by isolating people. And don’t die. Good advice.

The Ramban (an obscure rabbi that I introduced Rabbi Dardik to) views this instruction -- to be holy -- as providing a ‘beyond the letter of the law’ aspect. You can keep kosher and still be a pig; you can technically cover up and still be immodest; you can skirt the laws of lashon hara and still be insensitive. The Torah cannot provide a complete legal requirement for how you should act. Be holy. Go beyond. Lack of holiness -- you’ll know it when you see it.

The command “to be holy” is a mandate to better yourself. But that’s not actually what it says. It says “you shall/will be holy”. Holiness, spiritual progress, is not something you achieve. It’s an ongoing future -- a future of self-improvement: study, self-reflection, and action; rinse, lather, repeat.

The verse also says “Speak with the entire community”. The Torah was not a gift to a few holy individuals of outstanding spiritual qualities.  The Torah was given to a nation, not to individuals, so that we would become a holy nation, and ultimately an example to the world.

Should you think you’re not up to living a holy life, the verse ends with “for I -- Hashem your God -- am holy”. God can do it, so why can’t you? OK, that logic doesn’t quite work, but we have an obligation to emulate God, His known attributes, as best as possible. Just as he is holy, so should we strive to be.

“Perform random acts of kindness”? Nonsense.  Perform regular, ever better acts of kindness.  And involve others. And tell two friends.

Bonus lesson: I’m not thrilled with dvarei torah that focus on the beginning of the parsha and ignore the rest. So here’s the musaf:

“When you enter the Land and you will plant any food-bearing tree, and you shall seal off that which is sealed off: its fruit. For three years it shall be -- for you -- sealed off, not to be eaten. And in the fourth year all its fruit shall be holy, for praises to Hashem.” -- Lev. 19:23

The fruit produced by trees in the first three years may not be consumed, but in the fourth year the fruit had to be brought to Jerusalem and enjoyed with the poor, widows, orphans, and other underprivileged. The purpose? As the verse says, to praise Hashem. The best way to thank God for the bounty is by sharing your bounty with others.

Parsha Chol HaMoed, April 19, 2014

Parsha Chol HaMoed

19 Nissan /April 19

By: Barbara Barer

L’Dor Va Dor  

                                    

By now it’s common knowledge that I’ve been studying what life is like in advanced old age.

Like every other subject, like law, medicine, agriculture, there is something to be found in the Torah relating to old age. Therefore it struck me some time ago when we read about Abraham’s passing at the advanced age of 175.

“Abraham breathed his last and died at a good age, old and satisfied.” Well, what does it mean to be satisfied? The Talmud states that the truly wealthy person is one who is satisfied with whatever one has (Ethics of the Fathers, 4:1). How does one achieve satisfaction in advanced old age, and how does Judaism contribute to this?

I know what being observant means to me in my personal life, but I found it thought provoking to consider what it means in one’s old age. In talking with older people of all denominations, I have found that Judaism is very life sustaining, with a Jewish culture that focuses on home, family, community, and a tradition which connects us to our past. The practice of Judaism is very positive and sustaining throughout life, with its commitment to ritual, prayer, and family, and I would like to focus on those three aspects.

In my work with the elderly I have seen the importance and value of having a strong identity. In advanced old age there are inevitable losses – such as loss of hearing, vision, mobility, work, income, friends, and family - even, not uncommonly, the loss of a child. So how does one achieve satisfaction in one’s late years?

Generally we found that when there’s no alarm clocks, no black appointment book, no work schedule, people establish daily routines and create rituals around the mundane tasks of daily living. For example, they ritualize meal times, or plan their day around certain TV programs, or according to the timing of various medications that they take. By establishing a ritual they give meaning to otherwise seemingly meaningless days.

Judaism has long known about the importance of ritual, how to use time, to make it useful and meaningful.  The Jewish calendar is very full, with days that are not ordinary, with much to look forward to. Each week there is Shabbat, which we are never more than 3 days away from, with its ritual centered on the home and family, the weekly portion to study.

Throughout the year there are constant markers, such as celebrating Passover, counting the Omer, Shavuous, the High Holidays, Sukkot, to be shared with family and community, a sharing which sustains social integration. Additionally, the communal prayer of the minyan provides a form of sociability rather than prayer in isolation.

Which leads me to the importance of prayer in old age, not only in the ritual use of time during the day, but from prayer one gains strength and wisdom, which reduces a feeling of helplessness that can come with the frailty of old age. With increased limitations there is the threat of losing one’s independence and having to depend on others. A very important aspect of self-esteem is to be able to reciprocate. It is important to feel that you can still do things for others.

Even in the face of physical limitations, Judaism offers the opportunity to still do Mitzvot. For example, to pray for others, to offer blessings for a simcha, and to contribute to Tzedakah. Feeling that you can still contribute and do for others gives one a source of strength and vitality.

For example, Jacob, on his death bed, at the age of 147, told Joseph to bring his two sons, Menassah and Ephraim to him and “I will give them a blessing.” Even with a last breath, Jacob had something to offer his grandsons.

What I would most like to convey in my message, is that being an observant Jew and perpetuating our rituals and traditions does not suddenly occur in old age, once you’ve finished doing everything else. Rather, it starts in early childhood, at home.

It is said that the greatest strength in preserving the Jewish people throughout history is the integrity of the family. Personally it has been my practice and belief that it is the Jewish household that preserves tradition and maintains the Jewish identity. When Judaism is practiced at home and starts in early childhood, it can never been taken away from you, it can never be lost, like your hearing, mobility, friends etc. Rather, there is an unbroken continuity over time…practices that are connected with you, and remain familiar to you, from childhood to old age.

In Proverbs 3:18 “The Torah is an eitz chaim, a tree of life.” I interpret this as the Torah providing us with sustenance for life, and my conclusion is that you are doing yourself and your children a favor if you are prepared, and you prepare them to live life in a way that is truly sustaining and that sustains you right up to a very advanced old age.