Sermons & Taste of Torah

By Rabbi Adam Kligfeld

This may seem like a strange way for a rabbi to begin a d’var Torah, but it has been said by many that the most significant sex organ in the human body is the mind.  Attraction, arousal, interest and intention are cultivated in the mind; without that, the generative organs themselves are useless and impotent.

But how does a thought or a sensation itself arise in the mind? Who is the thinker behind our thoughts? Every philosopher of the theory of mind has attempted to answer that question: there is no consensus. Determinists unromantically break it all down to interactions between atoms and molecules. A chemical signal crosses a synapse. Poof: you have a thought or a desire. Others point to the stimuli to which human beings respond, and thus situations we can intentionally curate and cultivate, to help craft the thoughts and feelings we’d like to have, in order to do the things we think we ought to do. 

Ecclesiastes/קהלת/Kohelet weighed in on this in chapter 11. He wrote: וְהַלֵּךְ֙ בְּדַרְכֵ֣י לִבְּךָ֔ וּבְמַרְאֵ֖י עֵינֶ֑יךָ/V’halekh b’darkhei lib’kha uv’mar’ei eynekha. “Go in the path of your heart, and according to the vision of your eyes.” It is unclear if this is descriptive or prescriptive, but either way he seems to say that your feet will take you where your heart and eyes tell them to take you. You will end up doing what you feel like you want to do, based on what you see in the world. 

Close readers liken the order in that verse to that which we read in the 3rd paragraph of the Shema, when God warns us:  וְלֹֽא־תָת֜וּרוּ אַחֲרֵ֤י לְבַבְכֶם֙ וְאַחֲרֵ֣י עֵֽינֵיכֶ֔ם אֲשֶׁר־אַתֶּ֥ם זֹנִ֖ים אַחֲרֵיהֶֽם׃ / V’lo taturu aharei l’vavchem v’aharei eynechem asher atem zonim ahareihem. “Do not stray after your heart and your eyes, after that which they lustfully desire.”  Wouldn’t it be the opposite? Don’t you first see something, and then stimulated by it, develop the desire for it in your heart? The wisdom in these verses say, “no.” Often it is the opposite. Your heart has a desire, and thus your eyes conveniently seek out the objects of those very desires. It begins in the heart/mind.

Rabbeinu Bahya (13th/14th C. Spain) makes a similar comment on the 3rd verse of the book/parsha of Vayikra. He wonders why among the long list of sacrifices whose details Leviticus will describe we begin with the one called the עולה/olah, often described as the “burnt offering” in English, as it was entirely “burnt up” on the altar after being offered.  His answer is that the olah was brought to offer atonement for הרהורי הלב/hirhurei halev, ruminations of the heart.  And he concludes/warns: המחשבה תמיד קודמת למעשה/hamahshavah tamid kodemet l’ma’aseh. “Thought always precedes action.” It all begins in the heart. With the heart. 

Good or bad. Productive or destructive. Sacred or profane. Lustful or chaste. Ultimately what is seen and what is judged by others is what we actually do. And Judaism does not generally criminalize thought. But nor are we naive about how thoughts, deep in the mind and heart, can lead to terrible places, if not checked by counter-thoughts, by outside counsel, by learned restraint, by the imposition of a meta-will over whatever momentary desire has been born inside of us.

In this season of liberation, let us resist the enslavement of our most potent oppressor: our own minds. Let us be open to all that flows in, from sources we cannot always discern, but then act with patience, judiciousness and profound goodness so that what is formed in that crucible comes out in ways of which we, and others, would be proud.

Shabbat Shalom.

By Guest Writer/JTS Rabbinical Student Austin Clar

My wife and I are moving across the country soon–it’s both really exciting and stressful, good and bad all at once. Moving means packing everything from our pictures and books to our dishes and clothes, and the other day, I (for “fun”) counted all the clothes I own. I don’t know how this compares, so I promise not to judge you if you won’t judge me, but I own (drum roll): 29 shirts, 12 sweaters and hoodies, 12 pairs of pants, jeans, and shorts, 9 jackets and blazers, a baker’s dozen of underwear and undershirts, 36 pairs of socks (that feels embarrassing… is that embarrassing?), 20 ties, 23 pairs of shoes, boots, and sandals, 3 belts, and 4 suits.

Not so long ago, I used to own a lot more–twice as many or more of any of those items (except the underwear–I wasn’t completely nuts). When I first started this ridiculous collection, I loved putting together outfits, wearing different combinations and styles any given day, but over time this “wealth,” this diversity of options became a problem–sometimes I would change 10 or more times before I frustratedly picked something and got out the door, and at worst I broke down and cried on the edge of my bed because I hated everything I owned; next to none of it mattered to me, I didn’t feel confident or that I looked good in it, and I just couldn’t make a decision. Eventually I realized I couldn’t continue this way and purged the vast majority of my wardrobe. For a while I lived with a “capsule wardrobe,” limiting myself to a count of just 8 shirts, 4 pants, 4 pairs of shoes–the same amount of underwear–and 1 suit, but eventually, as I enumerated, allowed myself to live with a little more, although I make sure to limit it to things I actually like, feel confident and comfortable in, that perhaps have some value beyond their look and utility.

But enough about my closet… Picking up where we left off last week, Pekudei (38:21) begins with the words:

“אֵלֶּה פְקוּדֵי הַמִּשְׁכָּן”

“These are the records of the Tabernacle…”

Ushering us towards the completion of the building of the Mishkan, Moshe is first asked to provide an account, a record of its various pieces–the planks, sockets, curtains, coverings, veils, altars, tables, and lampstands–and along with it, the High Priests’ garments–the apron, breastplate, robe, tunic, turban, sash, undergarments, and the all-important divination stones. Sforno comments when we read these opening words (“אֵלֶּה פְקוּדֵי הַמִּשְׁכָּן”) we should recall what the Torah says later in Bamidbar (4:32) about these items when assigning people to care for them, it says:

“לְכׇל־כְּלֵיהֶ֔ם וּלְכֹל עֲבֹדָתָם וּבְשֵׁמֹת תִּפְקְדוּ אֶת־כְּלֵי מִשְׁמֶרֶת מַשָּׂאָם׃”

“…all these furnishings and their purposes, you shall list by name the objects that are their servicing tasks.”

Sforno says, this means that every single one of these objects was of such great significance that it warranted its own name (I like to think that rather than just “socket #12” and “plank #43,” they used cute names like “Shmuel the Socket” and “Pinchas the Plank”). I think this “great significance” makes a lot of sense, not simply because these items were designated for a holy purpose–serving HaShem–but moreso, because they originated from a self-sacrificing, open-hearted place–thinking back to Ki Tisa when the people brought the materials until they were forced to stop due to their generosity exceeding the need–they imbued them with deeper meaning.

………

There were so many special components of the Mishkan, it was necessary to make a record of all these items, each with its own unique name, to keep track of and honor each part. Returning to my once overwhelming wardrobe: I started with so much I couldn’t see everything, or rather, I could only see everything. By reducing and counting, naming (so-to-speak) everything, even trying to associate each piece of clothing with a good memory, in an attempt to imbue it with deeper meaning, I was able to take control over and reclaim a small, but significant part of my daily life.

………

I’ve found (and I’m sure you have as well) that our tradition (naturally) teaches we can act righteously, whether in the path of moderation or excess.

One hand, the Tanakh, Mishnah and Talmud, Rambam, the Vilna Gaon, the Baal Shem Tov, Rav Kook, Rabbi Sacks, Heschel–take your pick–all write about the virtues of cultivating a life of temperance of the material world and focusing on the spiritual.

.אֵיזֶהוּ עָשִׁיר? הַשָּׂמֵחַ בְּחֶלְקוֹ

“Who is rich? He who rejoices in his portion.” 

-Mishnah – Seder Nezikin – Pirkei Avot 4:1

On the other, many if not all of those same sages have also written about how having the means and using that abundance for a higher purpose can be considered a “hiddur mitzvah” – a beautification or enhancement of the mitzvot.

אֶלָּא אָמַר רַבִּי זֵירָא: בְּהִידּוּר מִצְוָה – עַד שְׁלִישׁ בְּמִצְוָה.

“Rabbi Zera taught: “In [keeping with the principle of] hiddur mitzvah, [one should be willing to pay] even one third more [than the normal price].” 

-Babylonian Talmud – Bava Kama 9b

When abundance surrounds you, discernment becomes essential to both refine and distill what holds true value, as well to magnify each element. It’s not a matter of “less” being preferable, or “more” being superior; rather, it is about curating what you surround yourself with, striving to ensure each piece of your personal “Mishkan” (whatever that may be at the moment) has purpose and is fulfilling its highest potential.

By Rabbi Matt Shapiro

Coming out of last week’s Torah portion, the Israelites aren’t exactly doing great. Reeling from the plague after the Golden Calf, they somehow need to carry on with the work they were charged with beforehand, building the mishkan, the place where God’s very Presence will dwell among them. But how does our parsha, VaYakhel, start? With a few verses about Shabbat. This may seem incongruous, but Rashi points out that Moses “intentionally mentioned to the Israelites the prohibition in reference to Shabbat before the command about the building of the mishkan in order to indicate that it does not supersede Shabbat.” 

In looking at the second half of Shmot, we notice that this isn’t the first time that we’ve heard about the building of this structure. Interestingly, Moses didn’t offer this guidance about Shabbat previously, but he does now; given what has happened, the context here is different, so the framing is different. Placing that value first now helps to anchor the work that the Israelites will do. This resonates with me- I’m more likely to struggle when I’m burnt out, overwhelmed, worried and, for me, prioritizing Shabbat first can bring balance and centeredness to any fraught situation. I’ve often noted that I think I only made it through Covid because of how our family chooses to observe Shabbat. I would take a break from the cascade of Zooms and the desk five feet away from my bed, mindfully setting aside, for 25 hours, the daily claustrophobic monotony, which made it possible for me to re-enter that space afterwards. 

But the revised guidance offered by Moses for how to approach this work isn’t just about avoiding negative consequences- the parsha seems to indicate positive outcomes through this pause as well. We’re told shortly afterwards that Israelites whose hearts moved them brought forth gifts for and contributed work towards the mishkan (35:21). R. Yosef Karo comments on this verse that people ‘who had no training in performing any of these tasks were inspired and suddenly were able to perform tasks they had never considered themselves capable of performing.’ What made it possible for our ancestors to give so willingly of what they had, to act from a place of abundance rather than scarcity, to transcend their typical way of being? From my perspective, it’s because the Israelites are now making sure that they aren’t simply leaping into the task but cultivating a balance between Shabbat and the other six days of the week. By cultivating that Heschelian palace in time, they’re then more able to be moved, to give willingly, going above and beyond what they might ordinarily do. 

On a meta-level, the fact that the framework for the building of the mishkan after the golden calf narrative is different is itself a meaningful framework. We can change the way we consider identical actions, depending on the circumstances, to help us navigate what’s unfolding. This flexibility is essential to moving through a fraught or challenging moment, and this concept anchors me during such moments. By providing the framework of how prioritizing Shabbat makes it possible to create further holiness, VaYakhel reminds me that this practice is rejuvenating and makes it possible to show up in the world with a willing heart, whatever the circumstances are. It’s not groundbreaking to suggest that it’s important to take a break once in a while, but that doesn’t mean it’s a given, or even easy. 

In cementing this as something we can each claim, one additional element that can be helpful is provided in the very name of the parsha, VaYakhel, telling us that Moses gathered all the people together. By joining together in community, we enhance each other’s experience of what Shabbat can be and help guide each other towards the fullness of what this opportunity holds as an essential element in the rhythm of our lives. This week, and every week, may we each take up this opportunity to center ourselves, both for what Shabbat can be in and of itself and for how it informs our experience as we move through each week, whatever it may hold. 

Shabbat shalom!

By Guest Author/Ziegler Student, Jacob Perl

Growing up, when we would have Shabbat dinner as a family, my mom would cook one of her specialties or my dad would pick up something from a restaurant on his way home. My job was to set the table. I would put out the plates and silverware, arrange the kiddush cups just so, place the challah cover on the board. If we were having company, I was to make sure everything was sparkling, including the special brass washing cup that we only used on Friday nights. This chore instilled in me a love for Judaica, for the material objects that help us achieve holiness.

Once everyone was home, my mom would light the candles, my dad would bless us and recite Kiddush. I would sip a little bit of grape juice and hurry over to the sink. I would fill the shining washing cup with cool water, pour it over my hands (3 times each hand, although no one ever explained to me why), and refill the cup for the next person. Holding my hands in the air, I would say the blessing Baruch atath HaShem, Eloheinu Melekh HaOlam, asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu al netilat yadayim and then dry my hands off with a fluffy white towel embroidered with the words Shabbat Shalom. That was, and is still, one of my favorite rituals. I love the all the care that goes into each seemingly minute detail of the handwashing process. Growing up, we only washed like this on Friday nights, but now, I ritually wash my hands every morning. Why? We will get there, but first some background.

In the weekly Torah portion for the last few weeks we have been detailing the care and process of the construction of the Mishkan, the portable dwelling place for HaShem. It is an ornate and beautiful structure, crafted to Divine specifications, filled with precious metals and finely dyed fabrics. This week, in Ex. 30:18-21, we are given the instructions““ regarding the washbasin (or laver, from the Latin meaning “to wash”). It is made of copper (or bronze) and filled with water. The Kohanim, before doing their priestly duties, are to wash their hands and feet so, as it is written, “they do not die.”

Chizkuni, a medieval French rabbi, comments on verse 18 saying: “you are to make a washbasin” in order to prepare for a commandment, this is not a written commandment in of itself. This is why it was not listed earlier with the remaining vessels (furnishings of the Tabernacle).

However, if building the washbasin (and therefore handwashing) is not a commandment, why is the blessing asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav v’tzvanu? Meaning, why do we say “who has sanctified us with Your obligations and commanded” over handwashing?

The answer lies with the rabbis of the Mishnah. After the Temple was destroyed by the Romans, there was debate over the continued value of the concept of ritual purity. With no Temple, what is the point? The debates were so heated that an entire tractate of the Mishnah, Seder Tahorot, details all the different laws of ritual purity. Not the most thrilling stuff, but there is a section entitled Yadayim (“hands”). This is where the rabbis, through a little bit of rabbinic Jew-jitsu, invent the idea of handwashing as an obligation for all of Israel, not just the priests – in order to live up to the Biblical designation that we shall be “a kingdom of priests and a holy nation” (Ex. 19:6). The first few chapters of Mishnah Yadayim detail the process by which someone washes their hands, not dissimilar to those posters that popped up next to every sink in March of 2020.

It seems logical to us, living in a post-germ theory era, but this idea that the hands could contract their own impurity – separate from the rest of the body – was a hugely controversial. Mishnah Eduyot 5:6 relates the story of Eliezer ben Hanoch who was excommunicated for doubting rabbinic authority regarding the washing of the hands. He died while under a writ of excommunication and the rabbinic court stoned his coffin as a mark of disdain.

Another striking example is Mishnah Yadayim 4:6. The Sadducees, associated with the priestly class, disagreed with the Pharisees over the idea that touching the scroll of the Torah conveys impurity to the hands. Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai responds, comparing the Holy Writings to the bones of one’s parents. Just as one wouldn’t make utensils out of their mother’s bones, they should not treat touching the Torah so lightly because “according to their affection, so too is their impurity.” The more you love something, the holier it becomes. The Rabbis won this argument, which is where the custom of using a yad ‘handshaped pointer’ while reading from the Torah derives.

Through generations of interpretation and codification, Jewish law and custom has made handwashing a central rite, performed when leaving a cemetery, before eating, after eating, before prayer, and after waking up. Handwashing, as R’ Daniel Landes teaches, is a part of the “halakhic transformation of reality.” It marks transitions of all kinds, from before to after. I wasn’t familiar with any of this background as a kid during Shabbat dinner. I just knew that I loved the ritual and the fact that once my hands were washed, we would say HaMotzi and eat dinner together, as a family.

By TBA Rabbinic Intern Aviva Frank

The Golden Rule is to treat others as you want to be treated; and the Platinum Rule is to treat others as they want to be treated. Then there is G-d’s ”how-to guidelines” or G-d’s Love Language. In last week’s Torah portion Terumah, and this week’s Torah portion Tetzaveh, we learn G-d’s unique set of instructions or Love Language for the construction of the Mishkan or traveling sanctuary, including the garments of the High Priest. “And let them make Me a sanctuary, that I may dwell among them.” (Exodus 25.8) Instructions and details for the sockets and curtains. Instructions and details for the outer chamber and inner chamber. Instructions for the seven-branched candelabra or menorah. Instructions for the twelve loaves of bread known as the showbreads. Instructions and distinctions between the holy and the mundane. Distinctions of what is allowed in the Mishkan (and later the Beit Mikdash/Holy Temple) but nowhere else. (Including divination tools and the mixing of linen and wool.) Instructions on how to make a sanctuary that G-d would love. 

How elegant are the clothes of the High Priest; (Exodus 28.5) constructed with the same materials as the walls of the Mishkan. (Exodus 26:36) These clothes of the High Priest were extensions of the walls, the walls of this Shelter of Peace. These garments themselves are sacred objects and holy tools. In fact they are tools for atonement. (BT Zevachim 88:B) Each one atoning for a different aspect of ways the Children of Israel could or would error. Vibrant colors of blue and purple and red, with wool and linen combined for both the physical structure and the wearable structure. (Note: The garments of today’s Torah mimic or draw inspiration from these Priestly garments. Minus linen and wool!)  

Exodus 26:36

וְעָשִׂ֤יתָ מָסָךְ֙ לְפֶ֣תַח הָאֹ֔הֶל תְּכֵ֧לֶת וְאַרְגָּמָ֛ן וְתוֹלַ֥עַת שָׁנִ֖י וְשֵׁ֣שׁ מׇשְׁזָ֑ר מַעֲשֵׂ֖ה רֹקֵֽם׃ 

And you shall make a screen for the entrance of the tent, of blue, purple, and crimson wool, and twisted fine linen the work of an embroiderer.

Exodus 28:5

וְהֵם֙ יִקְח֣וּ אֶת־הַזָּהָ֔ב וְאֶת־הַתְּכֵ֖לֶת וְאֶת־הָֽאַרְגָּמָ֑ן וְאֶת־תּוֹלַ֥עַת הַשָּׁנִ֖י וְאֶת־הַשֵּֽׁשׁ׃ 

They shall take the gold, the blue, purple, and crimson wool, and the linen.

Reading the above verses might startle us. For many Jewish people, the law of shatnez or to not mix wool and linen, is serious. There are shatnez experts to inspect your suit, one will carefully read the tags of the dress manufacturer, these individuals adhere fully to the verses in the Torah in Leviticus 19:19 and Deuteronomy 22:11: Forbidding shatnez in clothing, and extending to their curtains and tablecloths. (Do you see the parallel with the Mishkan?) We have to wonder, why this distinction for the holy vs. the mundane?

Exodus 28:30

וְנָתַתָּ֞ אֶל־חֹ֣שֶׁן הַמִּשְׁפָּ֗ט אֶת־הָאוּרִים֙ וְאֶת־הַתֻּמִּ֔ים וְהָיוּ֙ עַל־לֵ֣ב אַהֲרֹ֔ן בְּבֹא֖וֹ לִפְנֵ֣י ‘ה וְנָשָׂ֣א אַ֠הֲרֹ֠ן אֶת־מִשְׁפַּ֨ט בְּנֵי־יִשְׂרָאֵ֧ל עַל־לִבּ֛וֹ לִפְנֵ֥י ‘ה תָּמִֽיד׃ 

You shall place the Urim and the Tummim into the choshen of judgment (breastpiece of decision) so that they will be over Aaron’s heart when he comes before the Lord, and Aaron will carry the judgment of the children of Israel over his heart before the Lord at all times.

These wearable tools, the plate with the 12 stones, one stone for each tribe; and these two additional stones, also on the plate of the High Priest, could be used for divination or as an oracle. These two stones, called Urim or lights, and Tummim or perfections, could declare innocence or declare guilt. 

Once again we might be startled by reading the above verses. For our Torah clearly forbids sorcery. In Exodus 22:18: “You shall not tolerate a sorceress.” In Leviticus 19:26: “You shall not practice divination or soothsaying.” In Leviticus 20:27: “A man or a woman who has a ghost or a familiar spirit shall be put to death.” In Deuteronomy 18:10-14: “Let no one be found among you who practices sorcery, interprets omens, engages in witchcraft, or casts spells.” There seems to be a difference of what happens in the holy space of the Mishkan versus outside in the mundane. Not only happens, but is allowed, not only allowed, but is encouraged and even built for such divine interventions! 

On Shabbat, we relive or re-enact this holy place and time. Our rabbis have identified 39 categories of work performed to build the Mishkan, that we should refrain from on Shabbat. Simply, G-d created for six days and rested on the seventh, so too, the Mishkan was created and on Shabbat we refrain or rest from those creation activities or building activities. We create a holy space each week, separate from the mundane. We bring the holiness into the mundane. Our table becomes a Shabbat table. Candles become Shabbat candles. Bread becomes Challah. G-d’s Love Language is no longer a set place, but a destination in time. A traveling sanctuary in time!

By Rabbi Adam Kligfeld

As should surprise nobody, I am pretty proud of Temple Beth Am.  And Pressman Academy. Jewish life and community-building are not  competitions. There are many vibrant Jewish communities in our city, let alone our country, that are taking varied pathways towards rearing the next generation of Jews and Jewish leaders. I just happen to think the way we are doing it here is rather exemplary.  There are no guarantees in life. We prophesy at our own peril. And yet I feel confident that our recipe for inculcating our children within a robust, meaningful, substantive and loving Jewish environment augurs well for our future, for the entire Jewish future.

I think part of our “special sauce” is rigor. And consistency. And effort.  It is just the case that those among us who are in shul, with their kids, many/most Shabbatot are likely to see satisfying “ROI”s when these toddlers become adolescents, move through their teenage years and take their Judaism out for a spin in the real world.  And those to whom we have exposed spiritual and intellectual challenges–about the nature and existence of God; about the complexities of Zionism and Jewish nationalism and praying for peace while wielding power; about gaps and conflicts between inherited tradition/liturgy and contemporary mores and language, among others–will be better situated to stay inside the community when the more adult versions of those challenges present themselves. We want to protect our youth–but not too much. We want to steel their spirits and their resolve amidst the crucibles of faith and identity, so that they will be better equipped, and armed, when they undoubtedly face such challenges, both internal and external, in their more mature years. It serves no one’s future to coddle. Precious gems are forged under immense pressure.

Such is the lesson drawn from yet one more seemingly dry architectural verse within Parshat Terumah by the author of Mishnat Yisrael. He is commenting on Shemot/Exodus 25:31, discussing the construction of the menorah, the 7-branch lamp of pure gold, which was lit in the mishkan, the traveling sanctuary. The Torah instructs: מקשה תיעשה המנורה/miksha te’aseha ham’norah. The simplest translation would be “The menorah should be made of hammered-work.” The gold, essentially, should be hammered thin. But the Mishnat Yisrael wonders if deeper wisdom, besides a blueprint, is embedded in these words. He brings the teaching of the great Kabbalist, the ARI (Rabbi Isaac Luria, 16th C. Tzfat), who says that since the Torah is analogized to light, so too the menorah here symbolizes Torah. And we are learning that Torah is acquired, and secured, in a way that is mikshah, a word built from the root ק-ש-ה/k-sh-h, which means “hard.”  Torah and Jewish life are mastered בקושי/b’koshi–through travail, trial, hardship and even conflict.  If one is willing to endure the rocky road towards wisdom, it will reveal itself. As with one’s investment account, and the wonder of compounding interest, ongoing effort and sacrifice, over a long period of time, will pay dividends–if the investment is consistent and regular, and not episodic.  

As my teacher and father-in-law Rabbi Elliot Dorff likes to say, connecting the prayer/spiritual experience to baseball: batting .300 means failing 7 times out of 10 at your main aim. There will be lots of times you don’t “get on base.” But people who bat .300 for a lifetime are often enshrined in the Hall of Fame, as one the best ever. Provided…they are not pinch hitters. They need to be in the lineup, every day. 

Put in the time. Endure the disappointments.  Stick to a regimen. Come, often. And stay, even during some of the less “exciting” moments of Jewish life.  Invest in Jewish education and in Jewish presence and ubiquity, and you may well grant to yourself and to your children tremendous illumination.

This verse, then, is not just a blueprint for a building. It is a blueprint for life.

By TBA Rabbinic Intern Aviva Frank

On Friday afternoons, as I stand before my unlit Shabbat candles, I try to ground myself before stepping into Shabbat. With my feet planted firmly, my shoulders rolled back, an inhale and an exhale (known as mountain pose in yoga circles), I aim to bring intentionality into the lighting of my Shabbat candles. This practice of intentionality is known as kavanah in Judaism and I try to pair it with the container or kevah of the ritual, before partaking in it. By putting my kavanah before my kevah, I hope to infuse the action with grace, love and light. I often fail. I am often rushing to complete multiple tasks before Shabbat begins, and usually my heart is racing. I am usually trying to catch my breath during my inhale and exhale, versus being present and radiating inner peace. I imagine this week will be even more difficult.

This week’s Torah Portion of Mishpatim, contains the famous verse Nesah v’Neshama: At the base of the mountain, the children of Israel heard Moses declare the Book of the Covenant and they said in the plural, “We will do and we will listen.”  

Exodus 24:7 

וַיִּקַּח֙ סֵ֣פֶר הַבְּרִ֔ית וַיִּקְרָ֖א בְּאׇזְנֵ֣י הָעָ֑ם וַיֹּ֣אמְר֔וּ כֹּ֛ל אֲשֶׁר־דִּבֶּ֥ר ’ה נַעֲשֶׂ֥ה וְנִשְׁמָֽע׃ 

Then he took the record/book of the covenant and read it to the ears of the people. And they said, “All the utterances ’ה, we will do and we will hear.”

Notice how the Children of Israel all had to be in hearing range, and all heard it with their ears, contrasted to last week’s Torah portion with synesthesia, with the lightning being heard and the thunder being seen. Why could they not hear it in their bones, with vibrations? Or is that actually included in the realm of hearing?  What is the symbolism of the ear? The grammatical construct state even implies it being a singular set of ears for the unit of the whole people. The whole people only had two ears!  The people became one. The Children of Israel then responded in the plural together, as a unit, we also see this in a similar verse a few lines before:

Exodus 24:3

וַיָּבֹ֣א מֹשֶׁ֗ה וַיְסַפֵּ֤ר לָעָם֙ אֵ֚ת כׇּל־דִּבְרֵ֣י ’ה וְאֵ֖ת כׇּל־הַמִּשְׁפָּטִ֑ים וַיַּ֨עַן כׇּל־הָעָ֜ם ק֤וֹל אֶחָד֙ וַיֹּ֣אמְר֔וּ כׇּל־הַדְּבָרִ֛ים אֲשֶׁר־דִּבֶּ֥ר ’ה נַעֲשֶֽׂה׃ 

Moses came and recounted to the people all the utterances of ’ה and all the rules; and all the people answered with one voice, saying, “All the things that ’ה has said, we will do!”

The Children of Israel, the people, with one voice responded together! Now that is a miracle! All these people, these Tribes, agreeing together! Could it be, by taking on this commitment together, they knew they would have the support of one another for both good times, and bad times? With the understanding that their unity was their strength! 

And what were they agreeing to?

Rashi (1040-1105) provides insight into this recounting by Moses, for what exactly was he reminding them? Moses reminded the Children of Israel on previous given rules, including the Seven Noahite Laws; and the teachings and mitzvot (commandments) given earlier at the location of Marah, including information on Shabbat, the red heifer, administering justice and more. (Sanhedrin 56b) Additionally, the term utterances or כׇּל־דִּבְרֵ֣י ’ה can include universally all things or words of G-d, or also in particular, the Ten Utterances or the Aseret Hadibrot (The Ten Commandments) just given to the Children of Israel at the base of the mountain. Together, the Children of Israel agree. Smart, to have agreement before moving forward with more teachings and rules, both by G-d and Moses. And surprisingly, no one had a question, complaint or rebuttal! 

That brings us back to the Mishpatim 24:7, why the declaration to hear? Rashi explains it as “We will do and then we will hear.” (Shabbat 88a)  Accepting now the current terms and conditions as well as future terms and conditions. No need to read that fine print! The term shema in addition to listen or to hear, can also be translated as to obey or to understand.

Deuteronomy 6:4

שְׁמַע יִשְׂרָאֵל ’ה אֱלֹהֵינוּ ’ה אֶחָד׃

Shema Israel, Adonai Aleheinu, Adonai Ahad.

Listen/Hear/Obey/Understand Israel: Lord is Your G-d, Lord is One!

The shema is the closest verse in Judaism we have to a creed, and it can be said in the vernacular and not just in Hebrew- for if the objective is understanding, one needs to understand what they are saying. To declare their connection to G-d (or the oneness or the unity) the speaker should be able to do so in their preferred language. (Mishnah Sotah 7.1,ShulhanArukh OH 62.2.) 

Nesah v’Neshama when translated as “We will do and we will understand.” Seems to veer towards blind faith, yet I want to offer two other reads. One, what if, with certain activities, no matter how many times we read up on it or learn about it, we just need to do it, in order to understand it- for example riding a bike. “We will do and then we will understand.” Second, it has to do with kavanah and kevah. As in attending a yoga class, I do not always feel too inspired before I go, or even during it, but afterwards I do feel changed. I had to do the poses (asanas) and breathwork and the meditations in order to have the embodied understanding. I knew psychologically I would feel better attending the class, but I did not actually feel like going. I showed up even if not prepared. I showed up without kavanah or intention but it came afterwards. What if kavanah is not linear?

As I stand before my unlit Shabbat candles, trying to do my mountain pose, similar to the Children of Israel at the base of Mt. Sinai: I am ready to receive. To listen. I am also ready for understanding. Hoping and knowing, as I enter Shabbat, with all the rules- rules of actions to do and actions not to do- I hope through these actions a softening will happen. The week can make me harden my heart, stiffen it through stress, put a shield on it for protection. Become stubborn in my ways. Shabbat then softens my heart. Softens my heart for the week that just passed, and for the week to come. It is not linear.  

And what of my heart now? It is broken

“There is nothing as whole as a broken heart.” Says Rabbi Menachem Mendel Kotzk, known as The Kotsker Rebbe (1787-1859). I take comfort in this, as I prepare for Shabbat. In my brokeness, I am whole. Leonard Cohen (1934-2016) sings, “ There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.” How can tonight’s candle lighting bring light into my heart, and the hearts of others? 

Thus, this Friday afternoon, I will once again stand unprepared before my unlit Shabbat candles. Trying to ground, breathe and have kavanah. Knowing, that embodied knowing, that kavanah is not linear, and may only come after the action or the kevah. Knowing the best way for me to show up is authentically. This time, with a broken heart. This time, grateful for the miracle of the 12-hour timer mistake. This time, remembering the unity I have with the Jewish people worldwide. One set of ears, one voice. Nesah v’ Neshama, we will do and we will know. We are not alone.

Parshat Mishpatim

Friday, February 21, 2025

Shevat 23, 5785

Light candles between 5:24-5:42PM

Please light an extra candle for our hostages. 

By Guest Author/Ziegler Student Adrian Marcos

No man is an island,

Entire of itself,

Every man is a piece of the continent,

A part of the main.

– John Donne, No Man is an Island

When you spend enough time around someone that you admire and/or respect, it’s easy to stop seeing them as anything other than superhuman. This superhuman-appearing individual can do it all, you think. The thought that they might need a hand never occurs to you. Someone standing on the outside or who knows that person differently than you do, however, sees otherwise (or more clearly).

In this week’s parsha, Yitro is that person. He is Moses’s father-in-law who joins Moses and the Israelites after they have left Egypt. If you and I are the Israelites who see Moses as a superhuman individual, then Yitro is that person who stands on the outside and sees differently. He sees what Moses and the Israelites do not: that Moses is fast on his way to burning out – a fate that would spell disaster for Moses and the people that he leads.

He expresses his concern:

וַיַּרְא֙ חֹתֵ֣ן מֹשֶׁ֔ה אֵ֛ת כׇּל־אֲשֶׁר־ה֥וּא עֹשֶׂ֖ה לָעָ֑ם וַיֹּ֗אמֶר מָֽה־הַדָּבָ֤ר הַזֶּה֙ אֲשֶׁ֨ר אַתָּ֤ה עֹשֶׂה֙ לָעָ֔ם מַדּ֗וּעַ אַתָּ֤ה יוֹשֵׁב֙ לְבַדֶּ֔ךָ וְכׇל־הָעָ֛ם נִצָּ֥ב עָלֶ֖יךָ מִן־בֹּ֥קֶר עַד־עָֽרֶב׃

But when Moses’ father-in-law saw how much he had to do for the people, he said, “What is this thing that you are doing to the people? Why do you act alone, while all the people stand about you from morning until evening?” (Exodus 18:14)

Moses, however, misses that concern, as evidenced by his response:

וַיֹּ֥אמֶר מֹשֶׁ֖ה לְחֹתְנ֑וֹ כִּֽי־יָבֹ֥א אֵלַ֛י הָעָ֖ם לִדְרֹ֥שׁ אֱלֹהִֽים׃

כִּֽי־יִהְיֶ֨ה לָהֶ֤ם דָּבָר֙ בָּ֣א אֵלַ֔י וְשָׁ֣פַטְתִּ֔י בֵּ֥ין אִ֖ישׁ וּבֵ֣ין רֵעֵ֑הוּ וְהוֹדַעְתִּ֛י אֶת־חֻקֵּ֥י הָאֱלֹהִ֖ים וְאֶת־תּוֹרֹתָֽיו׃

Moses replied to his father-in-law, “It is because the people come to me to inquire of God. When they have a dispute, it comes before me, and I decide between one party and another, and I make known the laws and teachings of G-d.” (Exodus 18:15-16)

“It comes before me.”

“I decide.”

“I make known the laws and teachings of G-d.”

These are more than just the words of a leader. They are the words of a man who believes that he has to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders on his own. With the extensive list of accomplishments to his name, Moses has little reason to believe otherwise. After all, he was the one selected by G-d to bring the Israelites out from Egypt, the one who escorted them through the Sea of Reeds, dealt with their bouts of kvetching and quarreling, and regularly conversed with G-d.

Yitro, however, believes otherwise and plainly tells Moses that not only is what he is doing not right, it is too much for one person to do alone:

וַיֹּ֛אמֶר חֹתֵ֥ן מֹשֶׁ֖ה אֵלָ֑יו לֹא־טוֹב֙ הַדָּבָ֔ר אֲשֶׁ֥ר אַתָּ֖ה עֹשֶֽׂה׃

נָבֹ֣ל תִּבֹּ֔ל גַּם־אַתָּ֕ה גַּם־הָעָ֥ם הַזֶּ֖ה אֲשֶׁ֣ר עִמָּ֑ךְ כִּֽי־כָבֵ֤ד מִמְּךָ֙ הַדָּבָ֔ר לֹא־תוּכַ֥ל עֲשֹׂ֖הוּ לְבַדֶּֽךָ׃

But Moses’ father-in-law said to him, “The thing you are doing is not right; you will surely wear yourself out, and these people as well. For the task is too heavy for you; you cannot do it alone.” (Exodus 18:17-18).

Compared to his words from just a few verses earlier, Yitro’s words here are incredibly blunt. It makes you wonder, what gives him the right to speak to Moses like that? He is an outsider, after all. He was not there when Moses led the Israelites out of Egypt nor did Yitro cross the Sea of Reeds with them. He only joined them after he had heard all that G-d had done for Moses and the Israelites.

Being an outsider is what gives Yitro the right to speak as he does. That bluntness he displays is borne from the clarity that comes with Yitro’s outsider’s view and status and his relationship with Moses as his father-in-law. He does not view Moses as the superhuman figure that the Israelites clearly regard him as. To Yitro, Moses is simply his son-in-law.

If Yitro’s earlier words were the check-in, then his words now are a wake-up call. By telling Moses that what he is doing is not right, he forces his son-in-law to stop and listen. They also serve to remind Moses that he needn’t tackle everything alone.

Yitro’s words should also be a reminder to us that no man is an island. No one has to shoulder a burden by themself. The universe is filled with people who are able and willing to help. All we have to do to find them is look. Sometimes we need to be reminded of that fact and sometimes, we need to remind others.

There is value in being like Moses and doing what needs to be done, albeit not to the point where you burn yourself out trying to fix everything around you. In a time of increasing uncertainty, there is more value in being like Yitro, checking in with those you have not seen in a while, and reminding them – the way that Yitro reminded Moses – that they do not have to face the world alone.

By TBA Rabbinic Intern Nico Losorelli

The Israelites are free. We have arrived at the point in our Exodus story, where the people, after over 400 years of slavery, have finally gone free. They have been let free after witnessing the 10 plagues brought upon the Egyptians by the hand of God, and they have stepped from darkness into light. They have stepped from the darkness of servitude of human rulers, into the light of serving our divine ruler: God. And after this Exodus, there were no more problems. Nope, it was clear sailing after that. I mean, was it? Of course not. Almost immediately we run into some problems, the people are complaining about what to eat and what to drink, Amalek–*boo!*– attacks, and not too long after there is the whole fiasco with the Golden Calf. Despite the moments with the Song of the Sea, where the credits seem to roll, the question becomes: what happens after happily ever after? Now what?

As tempting as it might be to stop the story when Miriam takes up her timbrel, and the credits roll with Mariah Carey and Whitney Houston z’’l belting their legendary hearts out, that’s not where the story ends. It is where a new story begins. A story of pain, a story of triumph, a story of confusion, a story of growth, and a story of thriving. It is a human story. The Torah doesn’t allow us much time to savor the seeming zenith of our story, of our people’s redemption from Egypt, before it gets on with the hard work of living, and making it to the next step. Immediately the people set out on their journey, but not in a straight line—but in a 40-year long zig-zag for the ages. Why this zig-zag? Why not a simple, and convenient, google-maps route from A to B, maybe with a night stopover in Eilat for a tropical drink and a snorkel-tour of the coral reef? Well, this isn’t a vacation, it’s a transformation. Our Parasha, Parashat B’Shallach, begins with God saying that God sends the people on this circuitous path because:

“אָמַ֣ר אֱלֹקִ֗ים פֶּֽן־יִנָּחֵ֥ם הָעָ֛ם בִּרְאֹתָ֥ם מִלְחָמָ֖ה”

“God said, [I have sent the people on this path] lest they see war, and return to Egypt in fear.” Exodus 12:17

Here God recognizes that despite everything that the people have seen and experienced, despite God’s own demands that the people follow God’s commandments and trust God’s wonders, that the people are still faint of heart. If they hadn’t been, perhaps God wouldn’t have had to harden Pharaoh’s heart so many times, maybe God simply could have disposed Pharaoh well towards the people, and they could have left without incident. But if God had done that, then maybe the people would have deluded themselves by saying “See, Pharaoh isn’t so bad! It’ll be like the good old days with Joseph!”, if they weren’t ready to leave after everything they’ve seen and experienced, all the more so how they wouldn’t be ready and able to leave if they saw Pharaoh have an apparent change of heart for the good.

No, God needed to extract the people from this situation, and God’s plan to guide the people along this circuitous path was both for them, and for a few other objectives as well. Just a few verses later, God reveals God’s plan to Moses saying:

׳וְאָמַ֤ר פַּרְעֹה֙ לִבְנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל נְבֻכִ֥ים הֵ֖ם בָּאָ֑רֶץ סָגַ֥ר עֲלֵיהֶ֖ם הַמִּדְבָּֽר׳

“Pharoah will say of the Israelites that they are astray in the wilderness, and the desert has closed in upon them” Exodus 14:3

In other words: God has planned to draw Pharaoh and Pharaoh’s army out of Egypt, and utterly destroy them. But why? Hadn’t God already made God’s point? Why this horrifying additional step? Well maybe it’s because the people were still afraid, and could have returned to Egypt, landing themselves back exactly where they were before. Not only that, while the world no doubt would have heard of God’s wonders in Egypt, they may have also heard that Pharaoh, nevertheless, was able to rebuild, to oppress another people another day. So, God lures Pharaoh and his army out, they come in full force, cornering the Israelites at the edge of the sea, and the protective pillar of fire that has been following the Israelites, momentarily protects them. It is then that God commands Moses to take the staff in his hand, and part the sea. Moses does so, dramatically and miraculously, and the sea parts, and the people cross the seabed on dry ground. They begin to make it to the other side of the sea, and Pharaoh and his army chase after them, when suddenly the sea begins to collapse in on Pharaoh’s army, utterly destroying the might of Egypt, and Pharaoh himself. The people now stand on the other side of the sea, a sea that they are not equipped to cross over again, so even if they wanted to go back to Egypt—which many did—they couldn’t go back. Their liberation was so complete, that the mere option of returning to their former state of slavery in Egypt, was completely removed from the equation. And here we are again, song and dance, credits roll: “Ever after! Journey over!” but not so.

The journey is not over, and this new chapter could only begin with the complete closure of the option of any return to Egypt, because despite everything, God recognizes that the people are ready, but not totally ready, they need the extra push, so they can finally ask the question: Now what? What do we do when the last chapter is truly over, and a blank page stands before us waiting to be written? Where does we go from here? Where do I go from here? Having been stripped of their former reality, everything they ever knew: waking up day after day to slave away for Pharaoh, their Egyptian neighbors seeing them as less than, the trappings of Egyptian society and Egyptian religion—it’s all gone for them, so now what?

If our text is any indication of how to answer these questions, what is one of the first things that the people begin to worry about? Food, and water. They worry about life’s basic necessities, and what it is that we focus on during Passover—which is on its way, as always—by the way? We focus on food: chametz—that is leavened things like breads and cakes, and we focus on water: the thing that helps do the leavening. We focus so intensely and intently on food and water as we prepare for Passover, to then tell the story of our people’s liberation from Egypt. Why? What does a person or a people do when their whole world has been changed and/or they escape a formerly dangerous or compromising

situation? We/they focus on the basics of what is hopefully right in front of us/them: food and water. We focus on surviving, because while our circumstances may have changed completely, we are still in a kind of survival mode, so our tradition in its wisdom says: focus on surviving, it’s what you know, but let’s not end there. Because we don’t end there, after all. We move through Passover, completely restructuring how we eat, drink, move through our kitchens and supermarkets, and then, Passover is over. And we hopefully reemerge with a greater awareness and appreciation of life’s challenges and triumphs, and with the sense that just like this week of ritually completely changing our environment was meant for something greater, perhaps some doors closed for us in the interest of something greater, perhaps the zig-zag of our individual lives are meant for something greater. It can be hard to see when a door is slammed shut in or face, or when we’re in the zig-zag, it can be hard to tell when we are wandering that we are wandering at all. It can be even harder to see that we need a change, and sometimes we need that extra push, not to start from scratch, because as the old adage goes “wherever you go, there you are”, but to start anew. To start anew moving from simply surviving, to thriving.

So, what now? What do we do when we find ourselves writing the next chapter in our lives? Simply put, we put one foot in front of the other. We take a drink of water, we eat a bite of bread, we live, we heal, and we create a life that allows us to imagine again, allows us to zig-zag with meaning again, and allows us to write the beginning of that new chapter in our story, eagerly filling its pages with ink. And don’t worry, whenever we forget how to do this, Passover is somehow always around the corner to give us a little push, to help us remember just how to begin this process of moving from surviving, to thriving.

By Rabbi Matt Shapiro

When I was in high school and college, I did a decent amount of theater (something that I think had many practical takeaways as I entered the rabbinate!). One of the hallmarks in working on a scene is making sure that each line of dialogue has a specific intention- even a ‘hello’ or a ‘goodbye’ should have a deeper motivation behind why it’s being said, which in turn dictates how the line is delivered. It’s interesting to think about what this would look like in everyday life- what would it be like if each of our interactions were informed with the same level of premeditated thought that an actor brings to a performance? Of course, this isn’t fully possible- life is lived in real time, which necessitates responses in the moment, rather than thought out in advance. We do, however, have the ability to slow down, at least a little bit, in order to bring a bit more intentionality into what we do. 

In this week’s parsha, we are told about when the Israelites are told to take a lamb for their household, which will in turn be sacrificed and eaten. R. Moses Cordevero uses this part of the Exodus narrative as a jumping off point for thinking about the connection between our physical existence and the spiritual realm. He writes that ‘if a person, by their intentions [kavana] draws spirituality from a holy source, as for example when one eats for the sake of fulfilling the commandment of the Passover lamb, since it has been commanded by God, then that act brings perfection to the soul.’ What strikes me about the action that Cordevero is calling attention to is that it originates within a basic action, something we do each day (simply eating!),  yet it holds the possibility for elevation. It doesn’t have to be a particularly noteworthy act in and of itself to hold the possibility for growth and spiritual connection. 

As we read the narrative of a time when our ancestors were in crisis, I’ve also been thinking a lot about the actions we ourselves  take while in crisis. As our city has burned, the rush to act is compelling. I have felt pulled to ‘do something!’ even as it hasn’t always been clear what I could do, where I’d do that, or how. The principle can be applied in response to any number of crises, real or perceived, but the noble call to be of service also can be tempered by some measure of pause and reflection as to whether that service will, in fact, be received in the spirit in which it is offered. Even if the kavana behind my action is holy, it might not have the impact I desire. 

The commentary in the Etz Chayyim notes on this section that ‘in times of drastic change, people need specific, action-oriented advice.’ Within the parsha, God offers a number of specific actions to the Israelites, dictating to them not only what they should be doing in the moment (sacrificing a lamb, marking their doors, etc.), but also begins to reveal how they will, one day, commemorate these moments (telling the narrative to their children, wearing tefillin, and so on). There’s a gift, in this moment, of receiving those directions, which help to anchor the experience of a people in a moment of transition and challenge. These directions have a lasting impact in a number of ways, seen in how they are not only commemorated by the immediate generations of Israelites, but also in the Hagada, one of our most well-known vessels of narrative in our collective practice. 

It seems that we, in our current moment, are not gifted with such specific directions, that there’s no instruction manual for us to read. Yet when we pause to bring kavana to what we do, there are opportunities for specific actions to emerge, which can both ground us and point us to the ways in which we can most be of service. Sarah, my wife, teaches in an interdenominational setting- one of her former students is a pastor at a church in the Palisades, and the church was destroyed in the fire a few weeks ago. When Sarah reached out, saying that we’d do anything we could to help, we didn’t get a dramatic or major request. Instead, her student just asked that our community provide coffee and snacks for a Sunday service in their temporary home, which we’ll be doing this week. It won’t eliminate the massive challenges this community is facing, but, in an echo of what our ancestors did, the simple acts of listening to what’s being asked of us, providing basic sustenance (though in this case, more likely donuts than lamb), and sanctifying through those actions provides an anchor and an opportunity for elevation in a fraught moment. 

By pausing, being present with each other and responding to the call as it comes, we receive the opportunity to bring intention to our actions. This guides us in bringing additional holiness to what we do, amplifying the impact of what we’re able to offer. In doing so, we increase the likelihood that when, one day, we and our children tell the story of these fraught weeks we’ve lived (and are living) through, we’re able to share the narrative with a clear sense of what we did, why we did it, and how we sustained ourselves and each other. 

By TBA Rabbinic Intern Aviva Frank

In this week’s Torah portion Vaera and next week’s Torah portion Bo, we learn that G-d intervenes with Pharaoh’s heart in three ways. Three different terms are used: קָשֶׁה (Hard), חָזָק (Strong) and כָּבֵד (Heavy). Does this divine intervention take away Pharaoh’s free will? Was it all a ruse for the plagues? Were the plagues for Pharaoh and the Egyptian people who had enslaved the Hebrews (and benefited from it) or also for Moses and the Hebrew slaves who had yet to believe? 

In Exodus 7:13-14, before G-d hardens, or strengthens, or makes heavy Pharaoh’s heart, we see Pharoah does it to himself:

Newton’s Law of Inertia is that objects in motion will stay in motion unless acted upon by an unbalanced force. So too in Judaism, there is a concept that once we make a decision good or bad, it will stay in motion. Furthermore, if we keep making that decision, G-d will perpetuate this decision for us- a strengthening. Have you heard of a Hazaka? A Hazaka from the root חָזָק refers to an involuntary vow we make when we do something three times. In the Kitzur Shulchan Aruch 67:7, Rav Shlomo Ganzfried writes: That in addition, if the person did not intend to have his new practice be from now on and forever, but had nothing particular in mind, then we apply the rule that if he did it 3 times (without having in mind that it is not a vow,) then it becomes a vow. 

On one hand, this makes accomplishing our New Year’s resolutions easier, right? Modern studies say it takes 21 days to form a new habit, and here only three times. And yet, a vow is a serious matter! How does taking an involuntary vow take away our free will? 

Now, let’s look at the three different terms used by G-d for Pharaoh’s heart: קָשֶׁה (Hard), חָזָק (Strong) and כָּבֵד (Heavy). At face value these terms are neither positive nor negative. Is it bad for a rock to be heavy? For a rock to be solid/hard? Or for a rock to be strong? Yet, when these terms are applied to Pharaoh and to his heart, they are  translated as obstinate, stubborn, inflexible and unyielding. Did these divine interventions of hard, strong and heavy need to be interpreted as negative? Could there be something else going on there that did not necessarily take away Pharaoh’s free will? Pharaoh’s resolve was simply strengthened, hardened and given more weight. Resolve here about not freeing the Hebrew slaves but it could have been persistence for any matter. How often do we double down on what we believe in? Dig in our heels. Pharaoh had made a decision and G-d supported it. Let’s explore further כָּבֵד or heavy.

If we look back at last week’s Torah portion of Shemot, Moses described himself as having 

כְבַד־פֶּ֛ה וּכְבַ֥ד לָשׁ֖וֹן אָנֹֽכִי, “heavy of mouth and heavy of tongue.” Often translated as being tongue-tied or having a stammer. Here too, we see the use of heavy being translated in a negative way. I want to offer another read, a modern Midrash read. The Hebrew term כבד can have three different interpretations based on the accompanying vowels or niqqud: Heavy, Honor or Liver. Could Moses have been saying,  I am not fit for the job to rally the Hebrew slaves for I don’t speak their language, rather I speak High Egyptian of the palace and court. (A heavy language. Or a language of honor and pomp and circumstance.) If they will be unable to understand me, how will they be able to trust me and if they do not trust me, how will they follow me, and if they will not follow me, how then will Pharoah listen to me as their appointed leader? He knew the task G-d was asking of him would be a heavy one, and could lead to great honor- but who was he? Humble Moses, a free man, understood freedom and could free the Hebrew slaves based on his rank, but was he Hebrew enough for them, the Hebrew slaves, to follow him? Is his humbleness here admirable? Or was it trauma? Moses had trauma that he was not worthy of the task. His fear is rooted in the situation that happened in Exodus 2:14. When, The Hebrew man retorted, “Who appointed you as a leader and judge over us? Do you intend to kill me as you killed the Egyptian? 

Now, fast forward to this week’s Torah portion Vaera, when Moses says ואיך ישמעני פרעה ואני ערל-שפתיים, “How will Pharaoh listen to me for I am of uncircumcised lips.” Lips that do not speak the Hebrew language. Lips not yet dedicated to G-d. Speaking in metaphor, Moses is voicing his fear to G-d that he has yet to make a brit, vow or covenant with G-d the same way as the Hebrews. Or Moses is recognizing his own stubbornness.  (Deuteronomy 10:16 and Deuteronomy 30:6 both reference metaphorical circumcision, a circumcision of the heart. Since we are stiff-necked people.) Or is Moses recognizing his own inadequacies? It is true, Moses has yet to earn the trust of the Hebrew people. 

Moses’ fears were valid and rooted in fact, Pharaoh had not previously listened to Aaron and Moses when they approached him. He had retorted to their request for a three day journey with, I do not know this G-d of yours, when he could easily have added the Hebrew G-d to the Egyptian Pantheon.  Pharaoh also issued a new edict to (further) divide Moses from the Hebrew people. (To have the Hebrews trust him less.) The new edict required the Hebrew slaves to make the same amount of bricks for the building of the storage cities as before, and now instead of being provided the straw to make said bricks, they had to gather it themselves.  (Exodus 5:7) This led to Dathan and Abiram (Rashi) rebuking Moses in Exodus 5:20-21.

Ironically, he is saying all this to G-d, the one he fears others will judge him on. G-d aquises and says in Exodus 7:1, your brother Aaron will be your Prophet and shall speak to Pharaoh. Moses had made a decision and G-d supported it. (Aaron’s one-time role in Exodus 4:10-17/ Exodus 5:1-5 for their first visit with Pharaoh, is now a job title.) G-d had warned Moses it would not be easy, but S/He would be with him. (Exodus 4:1) As humans we have emotions, including fear and stubbornness, and so did Moses.

Aaron is then appointed Moses’ prophet and official spokesperson (two brothers working together) in Exodus 7, and this cliffhanger is then revealed in Exodus 7:3:

וַאֲנִ֥י אַקְשֶׁ֖ה אֶת־לֵ֣ב פַּרְעֹ֑ה וְהִרְבֵּיתִ֧י אֶת־אֹתֹתַ֛י וְאֶת־מוֹפְתַ֖י בְּאֶ֥רֶץ מִצְרָֽיִם׃ 

But I will harden Pharaoh’s heart, that I may multiply My signs and wonders in the land of Egypt.

Did you catch it? In addition to G-d revealing he will continue (the inertia) set in motion by Pharaoh, S/He will do so for a reason: I may multiply My signs and marvels in the land of Egypt. 

G-d does not call the plagues ‘plagues’ they are called Signs and Wonders. These Signs and Wonders were set into motion thus as a result of multiple people not yet believing or trusting in G-d. Signs and Wonders for all parties involved, either to watch and to bear witness or to experience as a consequence of previous evil actions. Signs and Wonders to bring about repentance. For repentance was always an option, as we see with the Sign and Wonder of hail, in Exodus 9:20: Those among Pharaoh’s courtiers who (now) feared ה’s word brought their slaves and livestock indoors to safety. 

We will never know if this was G-d’s plan all along, yet it seems it is the cause and effect of free will, involuntary vows and the freedom quest of the Hebrew slaves. 

By TBA Rabbinic Intern Nico Losorelli

We have begun the book of Exodus–the book of Shemot– in Hebrew. We are beginning to tell—or retell—one of our most important, central, epic stories. The story follows Moses, with the help of Aaron, as he serves as God’s voice for the people who are suffering under the yoke of Pharaoh’s oppression. God miraculously delivers us from Pharaoh’s cruelty, demonstrating to the Egyptian world, and the rest of the world that God fights for and advocates for the downtrodden, the weak, and the vulnerable, showing the world that God’s might is greater than any earthly ruler’s might.

This week’s parasha, Parashat Shemot, begins this tale by introducing that a new Pharaoh had arisen in Egypt, who didn’t know Joseph and what Joseph had done for Egypt, and as a result sought to oppress the Hebrews (not quite known as Jews yet, so I’ll be using the term Hebrew) for fear of an uprising. We are then introduced to our main character: Moses. Moses’s story starts amidst the turmoil of oppression, and his birth takes place in secret, and he is hidden for three months:

וַיֵּ֥לֶךְ אִ֖ישׁ מִבֵּ֣ית לֵוִ֑י וַיִּקַּ֖ח אֶת־בַּת־לֵוִֽי׃ 

A certain member of the house of Levi went and took [into his household as his wife] a woman of Levi.

וַתַּ֥הַר הָאִשָּׁ֖ה וַתֵּ֣לֶד בֵּ֑ן וַתֵּ֤רֶא אֹתוֹ֙ כִּי־ט֣וֹב ה֔וּא וַֽתִּצְפְּנֵ֖הוּ שְׁלֹשָׁ֥ה יְרָחִֽים׃

 The woman conceived and bore a son; and when she saw how beautiful he was, she hid him for three months. – Exodus 2:1-2

His mother Yocheved had to hide him, because Pharaoh had issued a decree that every Hebrew boy should be thrown into the Nile, to perish. Yocheved defiantly and bravely protected her son for as long as she could, but things reached a breaking point, and in her desperation, she puts her son into a waterproofed basket, and places him on the Nile, in hopes of giving him a chance of survival somewhere else. It is a desperate gambit, and it pays of when the basket containing her three-month old son finds its way to the Daughter of Pharaoh– Bat Par’oh. Bat Par’oh recognizes that this is indeed a Hebrew child, and decides to rescue him from death, and raise him as one of her own. She hires a “Hebrew nursemaid”, who just so happens to be his mother Yocheved to wean and raise him, at his sister Miriam’s urging, who had been watching him float down-river with a careful and hopeful eye. After some time:

וַיִּגְדַּ֣ל הַיֶּ֗לֶד וַתְּבִאֵ֙הוּ֙ לְבַת־פַּרְעֹ֔ה וַֽיְהִי־לָ֖הּ לְבֵ֑ן וַתִּקְרָ֤א שְׁמוֹ֙ מֹשֶׁ֔ה וַתֹּ֕אמֶר כִּ֥י מִן־הַמַּ֖יִם מְשִׁיתִֽהוּ׃ 

“When the child grew up, she brought him to Pharaoh’s daughter, who made him her son. She named him Moses, explaining, ‘I drew him out of the water.’” – Exodus 2:10

I realized in reading the parasha this week a question that had never occurred to me before: If Bat Par’oh—the Daughter of Pharoah—had named Moses after he had grown up, did he have another name before that? Did he have another name, perhaps his true name, that his mother, Yocheved called him by? Could it be that Moses’s (Moshe in Hebrew) true name wasn’t Moses/Moshe at all, but something else? It would make sense since many researchers have puzzled over the etymology of Moses’s name. Some have suggested that it was an Egyptian name in one form or another, and others have suggested additional theories as well. One might expect that if Moses had a different name from the potentially Egyptian one that Bat Par’oh gave him, that our Torah would reveal that name to us, and that, that revelation would be something monumental, revealing a truth about the reality of Moses’s identity, and thus a deeper truth about ourselves, but that doesn’t happen. There is no big reveal, it’s just Moses. Despite that, given that it was, and still is, commonplace to name a child shortly after they are born, I believe that we can entertain the possibility that Moses’s “true” name, wasn’t Moses/Moshe at all. Moses was a name given to him by Bat Par’oh, which was different from the true name that his mother so lovingly whispered and sang to him as she tried to get him to fall asleep night after night. Whatever that name might be, we don’t know it, and may never know it, so we have Moses, and there must be a reason for that. One theory about what the name Moses could mean, the name we remember, was put forth by linguist Abraham Yahuda, and the analysis he puts forward means that the name Moses could be loosely translated as “Child of the Nile”, which tracks nicely with Bat Par’oh’s reason for having named him Moses, because she “drew him out of the water.” This idea of “Child of the Nile” is one that I find so compelling, and one that makes my soul stir. We don’t remember Moses’s potential “true name”, but we do remember the name Moses, Child of the Nile. So why, then? Perhaps it is because Moses is so much more than a person, Moses is a symbol, Moses is a Child of the Nile, symbolizing both all of those who suffer at the hands of oppression and forces of violence, and all of those who look at a narrative of oppression and violence and say: “We will not stand for this, we will build something better, brighter, aspiring towards life, rather than destruction.” Whatever Moses’s “true” name might have been, it is not for us to know, much as it isn’t for us to know God’s true name, those are personal to Moses and to God, but perhaps what we do get to know is the symbol, as something to hold on to, remember, and protect, and remember that we are all Children of the Nile, in one way or another.

By Rabbi Rebecca Schatz

A year ago, November 2023, almost to the day, I went to Israel on a mission with the Southern California Board of Rabbis. 5 weeks post-October 7, a group, not much larger than a minyan, went to Israel to bear witness. Though while we were there we learned a lot, it was a trip to feel, to hug, to listen, to grieve. It was a support mission, not a trip to the Israel I lived or learned in. We heard from Jon and Rachel, Hersh’s parents, who were on day 50 something of his kidnapping into Gaza. We visited with relocated members of the different kibbutzim and the schools established to keep the kids safe and in regular rhythm. We walked the ruins of Kibbutz Kfar Azza, watching our step as we navigated fresh gloves, debris, and filled our lungs with the still lingering smell of murder and destruction. We did not go to Re’im, where the Nova Festival massacre occurred because Zaka was still taking forensic evidence and trying to figure out what happened. But we did visit Shura, the rabbinic army base where every body or human fragment was spiritually and honorably kept before burial. This was a trip of feeling so close that it was painful to leave and this was a trip of feeling so helpless that it was important to return and get to work. 

For a year, I have wondered when I would return and have felt empty without a reason to be back. When I was asked to be part of the Rabbinical Assembly programming committee for the convention happening in Israel in November of 2024, I jumped at the opportunity. Did I need one more weekly zoom on my calendar, definitely not, but this was my sure way to know I was getting back to Israel. So this past week, from Monday through Shabbat, I was in Israel and it was a trip of repair, of hope, of joy and of true homecoming. 

After Joseph shares his first dream with his brothers and parents, his brothers are beyond annoyed and Jacob, his father, the Torah says, “keeps the matter in mind.” The Talmud reflects that Jacob hears the dream, believes it will come true and keeps it in mind because as a father, he was looking forward to Joseph’s success and needed to monitor that in relationship with the other children. So the brothers go out to their pasture work and he says:

וַיֹּ֣אמֶר ל֗וֹ לֶךְ־נָ֨א רְאֵ֜ה אֶת־שְׁל֤וֹם אַחֶ֙יךָ֙ וְאֶת־שְׁל֣וֹם הַצֹּ֔אן וַהֲשִׁבֵ֖נִי דָּבָ֑ר וַיִּשְׁלָחֵ֙הוּ֙ מֵעֵ֣מֶק חֶבְר֔וֹן וַיָּבֹ֖א שְׁכֶֽמָה׃

And he, Jacob, said to him, “Go and see how your brothers are and how the flocks are faring, and bring me back word.” So he sent him from the valley of Hebron. When he, Joseph, reached Shechem,

וַיִּמְצָאֵ֣הוּ אִ֔ישׁ וְהִנֵּ֥ה תֹעֶ֖ה בַּשָּׂדֶ֑ה וַיִּשְׁאָלֵ֧הוּ הָאִ֛ישׁ לֵאמֹ֖ר מַה־תְּבַקֵּֽשׁ׃

A man found him, and behold wandering in the fields. The man asked him, “What are you looking for?”

Jacob makes it very clear to his son that his job is to check on the brothers and their flock, but to also bring back an assessment. This is not just about going to see them for himself, and ostensibly in some repair of the relationship, but also in order for Jacob to know what they are doing. And as the Or HaChayim says, Jacob made sure that Joseph had two destinations, one to his other sons and one back to him. Radak assures us that Jacob did not just want Joseph to find out how they were doing, but how successful they were at their jobs. Not only their health and well-being but also their economic well-being. 

This trip, I was Joseph. I knew I wanted to go, but needed to be encouraged by an outside force to make my way on the journey. I needed to know that I was going with a purpose and to truly check in, with my own eyes, on Israel. I needed to walk the streets of my old neighborhood, visit my favorite cafe, eat my favorite hummus, buy way too many Israeli gummies, hug my Israeli family and friends and just take a pulse of the country. I did not know that that was my mission, but once I was there it was clear that I had two destinations, into my heart and back into my mind. 

There were multiple tracks you could choose from in between limmud sessions with some of our the best teachers and scholars of our time. I chose a track of shared-society for the first day and a track to travel down to the south and experience the ecological differences and growth since October 7. It was important for me to be down south, just as Joseph went to check in on his brother’s emotional well being as well as economic, I also needed to go and see how areas had been cleaned up, memorialized, changed, built upon, or left alone since I was last there. 

The track focused on efforts of Jewish and Bedouin-Muslim communities, together with a small Christian population to foster mutual understanding and cooperation in the Negev. We began in Yerucham, and heard from a Bedouin woman from Rahme, who shared her powerful and painful story of living within a community where her rights as a woman were challenged by her family and traditions. I will not share her name, nor post pictures of her face, but we spent a lot of time hearing of her efforts to bridge between the struggles of forced marriage as a teen and then divorce to marry another man and is now working on degrees and advocating for Bedouin women’s rights. Her kids and husband are proud of her strength and resilience, and she still lives in fear of the culture and religious norms of her community. She finds comfort in the support she has through the Atid Bamidbar Organization where Israeli and Bedouin communities are working together to build mutual well-being for everyone in the region. This woman’s story brought to life the real struggles of living in this area as an unrecognized Bedouin community and yet, she flys a Jewish flag proudly in her room where she can privately share her devotion to the land. 

We finished the day at the Anoor Mosque in Rahat, where we met with Sheikh Jamal Al Ubra, Supervisor of the Mosques for the office of Internal affairs, for a discussion on interfaith leadership and community building. We walked up from the bus surrounded by children playing in the streets, laughing and kicking around soccer balls or riding their bikes. They kept yelling at us “hello” “welcome,” and even throughout the Sheikh’s presentation, they would stand at the door so it would slide open and would yell in “hello” and then run away. Kids are kids anywhere and in any religion and in any culture and it made every rabbi in that mosque feel very warm and at home. The Sheikh shared powerfully about how hard it has been for his community in Rahat since October 7. He said “here, there is hardly a family that does not have relatives in Gaza. And in the morning we arrive at the mosque and it is shaking. We as Israeli Arabs cry twice every time we see a child in Gaza is killed and when we see a missile fall in Tel Aviv or Rishon l’Tzion. We are the only group in the world that cries twice.” There was not a dry eye. We felt and feel his pain and his conflict and understand the teetering balance. He continued, “and I am hopeful. Hope will return to everyone and there will be peace all over the world.” With a hearty AMEN we all felt we were praying together. As an Israeli Arab working every day in interfaith leadership and connection, he implored us to remember that there are still Bedouin hostages and that we hope for everyone’s return. He said “on this occasion, I also want to thank you for holding the torch of hope through these days. The darkness is increasing and the days of light are short. Go back and hold the light for all of us.” 

So we, as Joseph did, left that mosque and hoped that we could share to open ears and hearts and minds the words of the Sheikh to hold that light in these darkest of days. On Hanukkah we say:

וְאֵין לָנוּ רְשׁוּת לְהִשְׁתַּמֵשׁ בָּהֵן, אֶלָא לִרְאוֹתָן בִּלְבָד

We are not permitted to use the lights, just look at them. Darkness, according to physics, is the absence of light energy, not a separate entity. So may we all listen to the light of these Bedouin voices and feel and hear that energy to guide us, ready to use it when necessary, but not in these moments of just recognizing and appreciating their light. 

Joseph hoped to return to his father with news of his brothers and their flocks and then got lost. Va’yimtzaeihu ish, and a man found him and asked him “what do you seek?” The rabbis have long discussed who this man was and why he knew to ask that question. No matter who the man was, the question is an important one for anyone on a journey, what do you seek? So maybe this man was Joseph’s inner thoughts while lost along the way. A man found Joseph – Joseph found himself, and asked what do you seek on this journey to your brothers? Why are you going? What is the importance behind the mission? Etc. 

After signing up for this trip, I asked myself the same questions. Why is this particular trip important to me? Why am I going at this time? Honestly, I did not have fully formed answers other than “I feel drawn to be back in Israel at a time where it is less chaotic.” 36 hours last year, 5 weeks after October 7, did not lend itself to a relaxing, see your friends and have a coffee, trip. This time, I was ready to learn, be in community with 200+ conservative rabbis from around the globe and just live in Israel as I constantly yearn to do. 

We went down, the second day, to Kfar Azza. The same kibbutz I visited last November, and yet it was completely different. Some destruction is still there, but the most tragic of debris is cleaned up and homes are memorialized and faces are printed on doorsteps. Motorcycles of Hamas were removed, the fences that were breached dragging people into Gaza were repaired and the silence of the ceasefire in Gaza from November 2023 was now loud, constant, noise across the very close border. On October 7, many of you have heard me tell the story that I called my dear friend David Landau. His family, living in Kibbutz Sa’ad, were safe, thank God, in their shelter, but he knew he would go into the army the moment they were allowed to emerge. I have not seen David because he has been in and out of the army since October 8. I knew he was currently “in” and the night before this trip to Kfar Azza he called to say he had less than 24 hours out of Gaza and would be able to see me. Hanging up the phone that night I started to cry. This was why I came to Israel. While standing in a road surrounded by burnt homes David walked towards me, in full madim uniform, and I could not have smiled bigger. Va’yimtzaeihu ish. And a man found me and I knew the answer to the question “what do you seek?” Hugging David, seeing my childhood friend, who luckily lived across the street from this destroyed kibbutz, unscathed and yet, as he kept repeating to me over and over “this could have been us, we had such mazal, such luck.” 

David only had about 30 minutes with us, and as we stood at the newly rebuilt fence, our back to the kibbutz and facing Gaza, I had to say goodbye. It was not enough time and it was not the shabbat with his family, or the coffee in a cafe or the hang on the beach of Tel Aviv that I was used to, but it was 30 precious moments that I will hold with me until the next time we see each other. I hugged him over and over again and kissed him on the cheek and said, “please stay safe.” I could not even wrap my head around him driving into Gaza 30 minutes later. How was that possible? And yet, this moment, this tough, emotional moment, was the answer to the question. This was the reason for a trip to Israel. To feel and experience life today, right now, in the beautiful and the dark moments. To hug and let go, to fear and live large, and to hope and listen to reality. 

Joseph goes to find his brothers at the request of his father. Did his father know or expect it would be for repair of relationship? We do not know. But Joseph does happen upon someone who puts life into perspective – why are you here as an existential question, not just geographic. I went to Israel without big answers to this simple question and came home to report that we should all go to Israel to find what we seek. For me it was repair, hope, joy and homecoming. I listened, and learned and felt pride in the conservative movement, which is important for my job and our vitality as a people. AND I went to Israel needing to feel home and that is exactly what I brought back with me. May we all find our answers on our life’s journeys soon, may our hostages be released to their homes, and may all people find peace in their home in Israel, now! Thank you for the opportunity to go home, for the opportunity to travel on journeys asking questions and for the space and processing to report back when I return. 

Shabbat Shalom!

By TBA Rabbinic Intern Aviva Frank

With the Gregorian New Year three weeks away, which of your 2024-year’s resolutions need to be renewed for a second year? Speaking of resolutions, how are your 5785-Jew New Year resolutions going? I ask, for how often do we take on a new habit or set a goal and fall short? With the approaching secular New Year and now three months from Rosh Hashanah, how have you held true to your word/promises? Don’t worry, you are in good company, as humans we tend to struggle with transformation.

In this week’s Torah portion, Jacob wrestles with an unknown figure, a man. A man who appears to an awake Jacob. Unlike in last week’s Torah portion, when Jacob dreams of a ladder with messengers of G-d ascending and descending, here it is neither a dream nor with his introduction being connected to G-d. Commentatories, Medieval to modern, debate who this man is- speculations ranging from him as the guardian angel of Esav, to the shadow side (guilt) of Jacob, to an archangel of G-d.

Jacob participates in a hero’s journey with this encounter: Adventure, challenge, transformation. The story unfolds as Jacob is preparing to remeet his brother after 20 years apart. In this scene, he is alone- a solo adventure. A man appears and wrestles with him- a challenge. He is left changed by the encounter, with a limp and with a new name- transformation. 

Let’s look at the text:

Three notable reflections from his hero’s journey are 1) That Jacob views the man he wrestles with as a divine being; 2) Jacob has wear and tear from his challenge; 3) After Jacob is renamed, the narrator immediately refers to him again as Jacob, not as his new name, Israel. 

Even our patriarch Jacob struggles with transformation! How quickly he returns back to his old self, being referred to as his old name. If Jacob struggles, and wrestles with transformation, how much more so do we. We can learn from this to be patient with ourselves, and to forgive ourselves. Similar to how Esav and Jacob find a way to forgive one another. They reconcile their differences in this week’s Torah portion, and even bury their father together. Shabbat Shalom.

By Rabbi Rebecca Schatz

Though I was named for my great-grandmother, Rebecca, I have always loved Rebekah in our Torah and am often asked if it is because we share a name. It is not, though I appreciate being connected to such a strong female character in our history. In last week’s parsha, Hayei Sarah, we are told more about Sarah through the attributes that Rebekah has taken on for her husband, Isaac, than through her own story retold. Sarah’s eulogy is truly the legacy that Rebekah is living. Rebekah, in Midrash, fills Isaac’s life with comfort, culture, and love that he only felt and knew from his mother Sarah. We never know that from the stories of Sarah in our Torah, but Rebekah has the intuition to continue on her partner’s legacy through adapting to family rituals, customs and values. 

Though Rebekah is seen as independent, strong and “different” than other matriarchs thus far in our Torah, in Parashat Toldot she is criticized for her parenting skills. And I want to disagree! As readers of an ancient text, we are worried that a woman could have so much power and leadership that decisions made were not intentional. However, Rebekah’s parenting has extreme intention, even if we are unhappy with the optics of uplifting certain qualities in our individual children.   

וַיִּתְרֹֽצְצ֤וּ הַבָּנִים֙ בְּקִרְבָּ֔הּ וַתֹּ֣אמֶר אִם־כֵּ֔ן לָ֥מָּה זֶּ֖ה אָנֹ֑כִי וַתֵּ֖לֶךְ לִדְרֹ֥שׁ אֶת־ה’׃

The boys struggled in her womb and she said “why is this me” and she went to receive explanation from God. 

God responds to Rebekah and says, there are two nations in your belly, two people will come from you. From “you,” not from “Isaac,” which is how we might expect the text to talk about children born to our patriarchs. The two boys, Jacob and Esav, grow up and our text tells us that Isaac loved Esav and Rebekah loved Jacob, but it does not say that they only loved those children. 

So where does the “bad parenting” rumor come? Rebekah hears Isaac tell Esav to prepare a dish in reciprocation for a blessing and Rebekah tells Jacob to do it instead. Is this trickery? Jacob tells his mother that he is worried about it and Rebekah already takes the blame:

וַתֹּ֤אמֶר לוֹ֙ אִמּ֔וֹ עָלַ֥י קִלְלָתְךָ֖ בְּנִ֑י אַ֛ךְ שְׁמַ֥ע בְּקֹלִ֖י וְלֵ֥ךְ קַֽח־לִֽי׃

Could it be that because Rebekah and God spoke before her children were born, she knew which son should receive which blessing? Our rabbis says that Isaac only loved Esav conditionally, based on behavior and attributes that he found admirable, but Rebekah loved without qualification. Maybe Rebekah, like she did with Isaac, truly knew what was best for her children and wanted to make sure that the blessings they received would serve them, and their future lives, well. 

Abraham, Rebekah and Jacob all have moments with God that lead them to make decisions for the future of their people, not just for themselves. Isaac has a hard life and is the recipient of much challenge and also much blessing; however, his relationship with God is not one of legacy building. Abraham, Rebekah and Jacob lead their people, our people, through relationship with God, intuition of community surrounding them and success for their nation. They are not perfect, and they are not without hardship, but they are leaders that show resilience, vision, and dedication to their people. 

Rebekah is a strong woman who knows her children. When Isaac is approached by Jacob, who he this is Esav:

וַיָּבֹ֥א אֶל־אָבִ֖יו וַיֹּ֣אמֶר אָבִ֑י וַיֹּ֣אמֶר הִנֶּ֔נִּי מִ֥י אַתָּ֖ה בְּנִֽי׃

Isaac says, “here I am,” “who are you, my son?” Who are you? Do I know you? Rebekah does not ask those questions. This does not make Isaac a bad parent and Rebekah the perfect parent, it just shows their connection and relationship with their children. I hope we can each read the Torah with compassion for Rebekah and a level of  דן לְכַף זְכוּת, of judging someone favorably because the have the best intentions in mind. Elohei Avraham, Rivka, v’Ya’akov – may these three ancestors shape the way we think of shaping our legacy with personal, communal and future goals in mind. 

By TBA Rabbinic Intern Aviva Frank

In this week’s Torah portion, Abraham tasks his trusty and loyal servant to return to his homeland and to find a wife for Isaac. The servant (identified by Midrash and commentators as Eliezer) expresses doubt for this mission, including, “What if she does not want to follow me?”  

Abraham responds in Beresheit 24:7-8 

ה’ אֱלֹהֵ֣י הַשָּׁמַ֗יִם אֲשֶׁ֨ר לְקָחַ֜נִי מִבֵּ֣ית אָבִי֮ וּמֵאֶ֣רֶץ מֽוֹלַדְתִּי֒ וַאֲשֶׁ֨ר דִּבֶּר־לִ֜י וַאֲשֶׁ֤ר נִֽשְׁבַּֽע־לִי֙ לֵאמֹ֔ר לְזַ֨רְעֲךָ֔ אֶתֵּ֖ן אֶת־הָאָ֣רֶץ הַזֹּ֑את ה֗וּא יִשְׁלַ֤ח מַלְאָכוֹ֙ לְפָנֶ֔יךָ וְלָקַחְתָּ֥ אִשָּׁ֛ה לִבְנִ֖י מִשָּֽׁם׃  

וְאִם־לֹ֨א תֹאבֶ֤ה הָֽאִשָּׁה֙ לָלֶ֣כֶת אַחֲרֶ֔יךָ וְנִקִּ֕יתָ מִשְּׁבֻעָתִ֖י זֹ֑את רַ֣ק אֶת־בְּנִ֔י לֹ֥א תָשֵׁ֖ב שָֽׁמָּה׃ 

ה’ the God of heaven—who took me from my father’s house and from my native land, who promised me on oath, saying, ‘I will assign this land to your offspring’—will send His messenger before you and you will get a wife for my son from there. 

And if the woman will not wish to go after you, you will be absolved of this, my oath; only do not return my son back there.” 

Did you catch that? 

Did this journey, a reverse of the journey Abraham and Sarah, include messengers or angels in addition to Eliezer?   

Who or what is this mysterious messenger, the מַלְאָכוֹ֙? His messenger that Abraham mentions as reassurance to Eliezer for this sacred task. Is this a human messenger or divine messenger? For the term מַלְאָךְ* can mean angel.  

Further questions: How did Abraham know this messenger would be sent? Did G-d tell him? Or did Abraham request it of G-d? And why did both a divine being and human being need to be delegated for this one task? How does this messenger impact free will or impact destiny? 

As the story unfolds, the term מַלְאָךְ does not appear again, but the term אִישׁ does- is this man and the messenger one in the same?  

Beresheit 24:21 

וְהָאִ֥ישׁ מִשְׁתָּאֵ֖ה לָ֑הּ מַחֲרִ֕ישׁ לָדַ֗עַת הַֽהִצְלִ֧יח ה’ דַּרְכּ֖וֹ אִם־לֹֽא׃  

The man, meanwhile, stood gazing at her, silently wondering whether ה’ had made his errand successful or not.  

And continuing in Beresheit 24:23 

וַיֹּ֙אמֶר֙ בַּת־מִ֣י אַ֔תְּ הַגִּ֥ידִי נָ֖א לִ֑י הֲיֵ֧שׁ בֵּית־אָבִ֛יךְ מָק֥וֹם לָ֖נוּ לָלִֽין׃   

“Pray tell me,” he said, “whose daughter are you? Is there room in your father’s house for us to spend the night?” 

An ask to decipher is her family as hospitable as she is; will she be a good fit for the descendents of Abraham and Sarah, known for welcoming guests. And who is this us? Eliezer and this man? Are they one and the same? Or is this man the messenger? Does the ’us’ include more people, an entourage? There were 10-pack animals in the caravan!  

Compare for example the protagonist in the following lines: 

Beresheit 24:22 & Beresheit 24:26

וַיְהִ֗י כַּאֲשֶׁ֨ר כִּלּ֤וּ הַגְּמַלִּים֙ לִשְׁתּ֔וֹת וַיִּקַּ֤ח הָאִישׁ֙ נֶ֣זֶם זָהָ֔ב בֶּ֖קַע מִשְׁקָל֑וֹ וּשְׁנֵ֤י צְמִידִים֙ עַל־יָדֶ֔יהָ עֲשָׂרָ֥ה זָהָ֖ב מִשְׁקָלָֽם׃  

When the pack animals had finished drinking, the man took a gold nose-ring weighing a half-shekel, and two gold bands for her arms, ten shekels in weight. 

וַיִּקֹּ֣ד הָאִ֔ישׁ וַיִּשְׁתַּ֖חוּ לַֽ ה’ 

The man bowed low in homage to ה’ 

Compare the above lines, to the lines below, and the switch in language from man back to servant: 

 Beresheit 24:52-53 

וַיְהִ֕י כַּאֲשֶׁ֥ר שָׁמַ֛ע עֶ֥בֶד אַבְרָהָ֖ם אֶת־דִּבְרֵיהֶ֑ם וַיִּשְׁתַּ֥חוּ אַ֖רְצָה לַֽה’ 

When Abraham’s servant heard their words, he bowed low to the ground before ה’.  

וַיּוֹצֵ֨א הָעֶ֜בֶד כְּלֵי־כֶ֨סֶף וּכְלֵ֤י זָהָב֙ וּבְגָדִ֔ים וַיִּתֵּ֖ן לְרִבְקָ֑ה וּמִ֨גְדָּנֹ֔ת נָתַ֥ן לְאָחִ֖יהָ וּלְאִמָּֽהּ׃  

The servant brought out objects of silver and gold, and garments, and gave them to Rebekah; and he gave presents to her brother and her mother.

Before we look at the Talmudic-era midrash, or expansion on the Book of Beresheit known as Beresheit Rabbah, what are the implications of angels being sent on this journey? Does this impact free will? 

 Rabbi Dosa addresses this question in Beresheit Rabbah 59:10 

וַיֹּאמֶר אֵלָיו אַבְרָהָם הִשָּׁמֶר לְךָ וגו’ ה’ אֱלֹהֵי הַשָּׁמַיִם אֲשֶׁר לְקָחַנִי מִבֵּית אָבִי, זֶה בֵּיתוֹ שֶׁל אָבִיו. וּמֵאֶרֶץ מוֹלַדְתִּי, זֶה שְׁכוּנָתוֹ. וַאֲשֶׁר נִשְׁבַּע לִי, בְּחָרָן. וַאֲשֶׁר דִּבֶּר לִי, בֵּין הַבְּתָרִים. הוּא יִשְׁלַח מַלְאָכוֹ לְפָנֶיךָ (בראשית כד, ו ז), רַבִּי דוֹסָא אוֹמֵר הֲרֵי זֶה מַלְאָךְ מְסֻיָּם, בְּשָׁעָה שֶׁאָמַר אַבְרָהָם אָבִינוּ (בראשית כד, ז): הוּא יִשְׁלַח מַלְאָכוֹ לְפָנֶיךָ, זִימֵן לוֹ הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא שְׁנֵי מַלְאָכִים, אֶחָד לְהוֹצִיא אֶת רִבְקָה, וְאֶחָד לְלַוּוֹת אֶת אֱלִיעֶזֶר. (בראשית כד, ח): וְאִם לֹא תֹאבֶה הָאִשָּׁה וגו’ רַק אֶת בְּנִי לֹא תָשֵׁב שָׁמָּה, רַק מִעוּט בְּנִי אֵינוֹ חוֹזֵר בֶּן בְּנִי חוֹזֵר.  

“Abraham said to him: Beware…the Lord, God of the heavens, who took me from my father’s house” – this refers to his father’s house. “And from my birthplace” – this refers to his neighborhood. “And who took an oath to me” – in Ḥaran. “And who spoke to me” – [at the covenant] between the pieces. “He will send his angel before you” – Rabbi Dosa said: This refers to a particular angel. At the moment that Abraham our patriarch said: “He will send his angel before you,” the Holy One blessed be He designated two angels for him; one to bring out Rebecca, and one to accompany Eliezer.  

Can we find this angelic intervention into human affairs in other parts of Beresheit? See below about a reference to another mysterious man, who encounters Joseph as he looked for his brothers in the valley of Shechem.  

Beresheit 37:15 

וַיִּמְצָאֵ֣הוּ אִ֔ישׁ וְהִנֵּ֥ה תֹעֶ֖ה בַּשָּׂדֶ֑ה וַיִּשְׁאָלֵ֧הוּ הָאִ֛ישׁ לֵאמֹ֖ר מַה־תְּבַקֵּֽשׁ׃  

A man came upon him wandering in the fields. The man asked him, “What are you looking for?”  

וַיֹּ֕אמֶר אֶת־אַחַ֖י אָנֹכִ֣י מְבַקֵּ֑שׁ הַגִּֽידָה־נָּ֣א לִ֔י אֵיפֹ֖ה הֵ֥ם רֹעִֽים׃  

He answered, “I am looking for my brothers. Could you tell me where they are pasturing?”  

וַיֹּ֤אמֶר הָאִישׁ֙ נָסְע֣וּ מִזֶּ֔ה כִּ֤י שָׁמַ֙עְתִּי֙ אֹֽמְרִ֔ים נֵלְכָ֖ה דֹּתָ֑יְנָה וַיֵּ֤לֶךְ יוֹסֵף֙ אַחַ֣ר אֶחָ֔יו וַיִּמְצָאֵ֖ם בְּדֹתָֽן׃  

The man said, “They have gone from here, for I heard them say: Let us go to Dothan.” So Joseph followed his brothers and found them at Dothan.   

וַיִּרְא֥וּ אֹת֖וֹ מֵרָחֹ֑ק וּבְטֶ֙רֶם֙ יִקְרַ֣ב אֲלֵיהֶ֔ם וַיִּֽתְנַכְּל֥וּ אֹת֖וֹ לַהֲמִיתֽוֹ׃  

 They saw him from afar, and before he came close to them they conspired to kill him. 

 Rashi addresses this matter of who this man was by drawing too on Beresheit Rabbah 84:14 and on Midrash Tanchuma, Vayeshev 2:3. If the man had not been there and Joseph could not find his brothers on that day, how might the story’s ending have been different?  

 איש AND A MAN FOUND HIM — This was the angel Gabriel (Beresheit Rabbah 84:14) as it is said, (Daniel 9:21) and the man (והאיש) Gabriel” (Midrash Tanchuma, Vayeshev 2:3). 

 As we look with our modern eyes at these Torah texts, how comfortable do we feel with angels who meddle in and facilitate human encounters? (Ultimately G-d.) Does it negate free will? Rather can we see that free will is still available to the humans involved in these encounters, they still have choice on how to respond vs. react?  

 Why would G-d have wanted Joseph to encounter Gabriel on that day, and then his brothers? Could the brothers have met Joseph with compassion instead of anger? Did they respond or react? 

 Finally, G-d also facilitates opportunities for gemilut hasidim or giving loving kindness. As we see in our final example of mystery men in Beresheit, Abraham waits in the heat of the day, at the entrance of his and Sarah’s tent for visitors. Three men or angels appear to visit the sick (him) as he prepares to welcome them, the guests- the perfect exchange of loving kindness.  

 Beresheit 18:2 

 וַיִּשָּׂ֤א עֵינָיו֙ וַיַּ֔רְא וְהִנֵּה֙ שְׁלֹשָׁ֣ה אֲנָשִׁ֔ים נִצָּבִ֖ים עָלָ֑יו וַיַּ֗רְא וַיָּ֤רׇץ לִקְרָאתָם֙ מִפֶּ֣תַח הָאֹ֔הֶל וַיִּשְׁתַּ֖חוּ אָֽרְצָה׃  

 Looking up, he saw three men standing near him. Perceiving this, he ran from the entrance of the tent to greet them and, bowing to the ground. 

 *Locations in the Book of Beresheit for the word מַלְאָךְ: 

16:7 

16:9 

16:10 

16:11 

19:1 

19:15 

21:17 

22:11 

22:15 

24:7 

24:40 

28:12 

32:1 

32:3 

32:6 

48:16 

By TBA Rabbinic Intern Nico Losorelli

“God said to Abram, “Go forth from your native land, from the place of your youth, and from your father’s house to the land that I will show you.” Genesis 12:1

“לֶךְ לְךָ”“Go forth from your native land,” meaning all that you have ever known, “from the place of your youth,” from the precious irreplaceable memories you have, “and from your father’s house,” from the safety and loving embrace of your family, to a land that God will show you. This is an enormous ask for anyone, including our patriarch Abraham (then Abram). How does one even begin to answer such a call? How does one go for “oneself”, given that “לֶךְ לְךָ” can translate literally as “Go, for/to yourself”? How does one make such a leap, sight unseen? If someone were to say to you “pack up, and move to a mystery country—no, no, I’ll show you the house when we get there!” you might say “thank you, but no thank you”, and you would be completely within your rights to say no. So, when God tells Abraham to “Go”, Abraham seems to also be completely within his rights to say “thank you, but no thank you”, because God didn’t say “Go, go for me!” God said “Go, go for yourself”, which indicates that while this was a divine call, it was a divine call that Abraham had to be willing to answer of his own volition.

Surely the timing wasn’t great, but when is it ever a good time to leave behind everything you’ve ever known and build a new life? And surely the prospect of never seeing your father and homeland again, given that you couldn’t just zoom someone in the ancient world, never happens at the right time, but when would it ever? Despite this steep command from God, God still conveys “Go for yourself”. We all have some kind of “lech lecha” moment, and such a journey would look like for you or me would look completely different, but what our journeys do have in common is that they must start with a first step followed by a second step. The first step to follow the divine imperative of “לֶךְ”, and a second step to decide that you are truly choosing this journey in “לְךָ”, and it very well could be that you aren’t going for yourself, and must wait until you truly are going for yourself, and might even decide “this isn’t the path for me, right now”.

We stand at a moment in history in which the next steps lay on many different paths, paths for some that are thrilling, and paths for others that are horrifying, and those paths may very well diverge in many opposing directions. Despite these differences, from 10,000 feet we must remember that while we are walking different paths, and we very well may be navigating different terrains, we are still share the destiny of walking this earth together. My “lech lecha” is not your “lech lecha”, or your neighbor’s “lech lecha” or your friend’s “lech lecha”, and yet while we tread the same earth, we mustn’t tread on one another, given that just one verse later God promises to make Abraham’s name great, his descendants—us—a great nation and a blessing. We may not be able to walk the same paths, but as we enter a period of significant change we must remember that we are called to be a blessing, meaning that while we may struggle to bless one another’s paths, we must be a blessing

when we do cross paths, rather than a poisonous viper on the road, such that when we see our fellow human being on the road they say “Wow, I needed to see you, and what a blessing it is to see you” This requires humility, it requires care, and it requires that while each of us may be convinced of the rightness of our own path, it is only one of many, and like it or not, we are all in this together.

By TBA Rabbinic Intern Aviva Frank

This week’s Torah portion and the new Jewish month of Cheshvan both have lessons on rain, and not just any type of rain, rain at the right time and in the right amount. Rosh Hodesh Mar-Cheshvan began on Thursday eve and will overlap with Parshat Noah, as it is a two-day Rosh Hodesh.  

We began praying for pending rain with our lulav and an etrog during Sukkot. Praying for rain at the proper time is paramount. These pending prayers with our rain stick (lulav) are so, because if it began to rain in ancient times during Sukkot it would be seen as a curse, for during this pilgrimage festival rain would deter the festivities and be problematic for those traveling home post-Jerusalem celebrations. (Mishna Ta’anit 1:1-3) Equally important, is the proper amount of rain. On Shemini Atzeret we added/switched for the Winter months a special line to our Amidah or our whispering, standing meditation. We launched this addition with a communal prayer during the repetition of the Musaf Amidah with either Tikkun HaGeshem if one is Sephardic or Tefillat Geshem if one is Ashkenazic. These prayers highlight the power of water and the need for it in the right amount. As we pray in Tefillat Geshem: For a blessing, not a curse. For life, not for death. For plenty, not for scarcity. 

In this week’s Torah portion, we see the impact of too much rain (plenty) and flooding (death) and not by chance is it read this time of year- for in the generation of Noah on Cheshvan 17th the rains began to fall and flooding begun when “fountains of the great deep burst apart.”(Beresheit 7:11) Only a year later, on the 27th of Cheshvan, is when Noah and his family and all the animals emerged from the ark. Pairs of two for non-pure animals, and pairs of seven for pure. (Beresheit 7:2) What about the rest of humanity? Where did they go? Were they warned? 

Noah, unlike his descendent Abraham with Sodom and Gomorrah, does not petition or negotiate with G-d to prevent the flood. After all, Noah is “righteous before Me in this generation” but not in every generation. (Bersheit 7:1)

וַיֹּ֣אמֶר ‘ה לֹֽא־יָד֨וֹן רוּחִ֤י בָֽאָדָם֙ לְעֹלָ֔ם בְּשַׁגַּ֖ם ה֣וּא בָשָׂ֑ר וְהָי֣וּ יָמָ֔יו מֵאָ֥ה וְעֶשְׂרִ֖ים שָׁנָֽה׃ 

‘ה said, “My breath shall not abide in humankind forever, since it too is flesh; let these days be one hundred and twenty years.”

– Bersheit 6:30

The rabbis of the Talmud/Hazel (Sanhedrin 108b) and Rashi speculate why then it took 120-years to construct the ark, concluding it provided ample time for humanity to see the construction project, inquire about it and repent. This was to allow humanity the time for a second chance. This tradition is based on the above proof text found in Bersheit 6:30. Thus, even if Noah did not speak-up for humanity, he (in his own way) helped. 

Cheshvan, I believe, begs us to ask ourselves: How do we help those facing water insecurity, be it too little or too much? We might not have a 120-years, but we do have time to take action against climate change (natural or man-made) and those displaced and impacted by the recent heavy rains and flooding. Flooding in the US (North Carolina & Florida), Poland, the Philippines, and Spain just to name a few. In 2017 I traveled to Puerto Rico with IsraAID to provide safe and clean drinking water (via water filtration systems) to displaced families by Hurricane Maria. Yet, one does not need to travel far to help and provide safe and clean drinking water, one can volunteer locally with OBKLA. In fact, JLC is volunteering with them on Sunday! Shabbat Shalom & Hodesh Tov!

By TBA Rabbinic Intern Nico Losorelli

We have just rolled our Torah from the farthest end of the scroll at one end, to its opposite end back at the beginning. בראשית, Bereshit. In the beginning. We are about to reread how God created the world, and day by day said that it was “good,”and upon God’s creation of humans saying that it was “very good.” We’re back at the beginning, with the opportunity to create something new, and decide what is “good” and what is “very good.” However, I would like to add a caveat. We have also just exited the intense period of spiritual accounting that is the High Holiday season. During this time, in addition to asking ourselves what is “good” and what is “very good,” we’ve also been asking ourselves what is “bad” and what is “very bad.” These are extreme ends of the spectrum, and of course there is a lot of in between. I say this, because we may be tempted to look at this “new beginning” as a “clean slate,” that is how it is often thought about: Do your spiritual accounting, do you teshuvah, and start with a clean slate. There is, however, no such thing as a clean slate. Only a fresh page, or perhaps, a fresh piece of klaf—that is Torah Parchment—on which to write the next part of your story. 

“But why? I’ve done so much looking backward, I’d really just like to look to the forward! I’m really done,” you might say, but there is no moving forward, without looking backward. Time is a spiral, not a straight line, and often moving a few steps backward—whether by intentionally examining one’s past actions, or unintentionally reverting to behavior we’d prefer to leave in the past—can give us a better idea of how to move forward, and also just how much we have moved forward. It is an opportunity to say “this is good” and “this is bad.”  So, this backward looking, is essential to true movement forward. Otherwise, we risk writing the same old story, with the same old pen, or pencil, or quill, or more realistically, keyboard. At this juncture it would be a shame to close the book on all of that good work you’ve done, and march forward into 5785 without the new lessons you’ve learned, because you really did work so hard. With all of your hard work in hand, I’d like to encourage you not to abandon it. Don’t abandon the process of teshuvah, embrace it as a daily process.  

You have a fresh page of your own life’s Torah to write, but there are all of the pages already written before, and those that will be written after. So, in this moment of being back at the beginning, I’d like to invite you to use this opportunity to seriously ask yourself: “With all of the work that I have done over these past weeks, what am I going to do to write my new story of creation, and how am I going to do it?” Make a list, make a plan, continue to figure out what is “good” and what is “bad”, with all the shades of grey in between, and enjoy the trial and error of it all, because that is the stuff of living, and that is how your will truly move the plot of your life forward.