Endings and beginnings

V’Zot Habracha – ‘This is the blessing.’ the last verses of Torah, Moses’ blessing of each tribe, as his time comes to an end.  It is not a regular weekly portion for Shabbat, but read only during the gossamer threads of time left after Sukkot, in the transitional moment of Simchat Torah, as we end and right away begin again our cyclical reading of Torah.

this opening line could also be read: ‘This is the blessing.’  The Midrash teaches that the gates of prayer are sometimes closed and sometimes open, but that the gates of repentance are always open.  From the awesomeness of the New Year and the spirit of community and repentance on Yom Kippur, to the celebration and gratitude of Sukkot, we conclude this period of holy days with absolute joy – celebrating Torah in our lives. That is the blessing.

I see yet another reading: ‘This is the blessing.’  This moment.  At the end and beginning of Torah, at the end of any significant period of time, at the end of any event, at the end of someone’s life – we just want to hold on to it, we don’t want to let go of the joy, the elevation, the soaring emotions.  Having just finished Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur with my wonderful community, on a high and exhausted all at the same time, I just want to hang on to that exhilaration, the fullness in my heart.  Continuing through the last week, I am filled with emotions of the days: of Sukkot – joyful, Simchat Torah – amazing, Yizkor – contemplative. My mindfulness practice reminds me to notice that desire to hang on, to honor it, and to know that too will pass.

V’zot Habracha – Each liminal moment, each year, each time around again; it is not about what ‘was’, but rather only about ‘this’ – now.

‘This is the blessing’ –  It is our blessing that we have these sacred words with which to engage, to look at life, to see life through.

Now back to beginning once again.

Thresholds

As the month of Elul comes to a close,

As the moon disappears from view,

The call of the shofar beckons.

Come close, it says; listen carefully.

Erase all distractions – the tiny details of preparation, the hugeness of the responsibilities.

God is calling for my return, for yours – calling us to remember, calling us up from the darkness of missed opportunities to days and life renewed.

I stand here, before the gates of the New Year,

My heart open, my voice trembling,

Filled with gratitude and joy.

Elul reflections

Today, I wrote on our synagogue blog, so please join me there -

The Scrolls of our Days.

From Darkness to Light

This is a challenging portion, in that its content is odd, especially in the midst of instruction and consideration that are Moses’ orations in the Book of Deuteronomy.  It is content we might even find difficult or objectionable:  descriptions of capital punishment, of taking captives and plunder in war, of stoning rebellious children, and of problematic and harmful relationships between spouses – rejection, adultery, divorce.

But it finishes with ‘Zachor et Amalek’  – we are to remember how soon after leaving Egypt, we were attacked by the Amalekites, without provocation; with ruthlessness, trickery and tyranny.  While the Israelites ultimately prevailed, it was a horrible moment in history. Our portion this week reminds us: “You shall blot out the memory of Amalek from under heaven; you shall not forget.

Why remember the dark side of our history?  Don’t we just want to block those hurts out? Even at this time of year, the work of teshuvah, of repentance, is difficult because it forces us to confront that dark side.  And yet, the pull of the dark side, as Darth Vader reminds us, can be alluring and strong.

But what is the purpose of remembering who hurt us, how we were defeated and humiliated? Are we really to wallow in our own suffering?

Both scientific studies and life experience teach that our lives become defined by where we direct our attention, for actions ultimately follow intention.  Our memories, our emotions and our personal narratives become woven to create the tapestry of our lives.  We are what we remember.

Torah here merely teaches us to remember.

The key is that we can choose how we remember:

Do we hold onto grief, or can we transform it into empathy for others? Do we remain fearful, or use that experience to build courage? Can we turn our mourning into dancing, as the psalmist calls us to do?

Torah here teaches to remember what we were, even the icky and objectionable stuff – so that we can transform our narrative to become bearers of wholeness and blessing.

[Ki Teitzei 2014]

The True Source of Human Sustenance

Shabbat eve 8/15/14 –

Most of us probably remember an early childhood ‘experiment’ – taking a lima bean, placing it gently in a small cup of dirt from the yard, giving it a bit of water, and waiting….watching….waiting….until one day, a tiny green tendril poked its head out from the soil, reaching upward, stronger each day. A leaf unfurling, a new shoot sprouting forth.  A moment of creation, re-enacted.  As a child, it was almost miraculous to behold; but soon enough, with age and time, the miracle more than likely became routine, even burdensome – awe transformed into chores of weeding (though Ralph Waldo Emerson says: ‘What is a weed?  A plant whose virtues have not yet been discovered.’) or raking for our parents, then later on maybe to landscaping and planting gardens for ourselves….and the more that we do, the more we are impressed by the work of our own hands.

That changed for my family 7 years ago.  We moved into a house where there were 12 fruit trees, and a large yard with potential for a large produce garden.  John and I – well, mostly John – slowly and systematically redesigned our yard, creating a drip-irrigated fruit and vegetable garden, to the extent that there was very little that I bought anymore in terms of produce.  We would eat whatever was growing, whatever was in season.  Moreover, the more that we cultivated, the more that we became acutely aware that while we worked very hard, either trying to replicate things that ‘worked’ or trying different techniques and arrangements, using varieties of seeds and plants – sometimes things worked and sometimes they didn’t.  While we worked to create and prepare all of the conditions for growing, there was a piece of it that was out of our hands. And we stood in awe of that – God’s presence in creation, in our yard.

In our Torah cycle this week, the Israelites are [still] standing at the edge of the Promised Land – “For the Eternal your God is bringing you into a good land, a land with streams and springs and fountains issuing from plain and hill; 8) a land of wheat and barley, of vines, figs, and pomegranates, a land of olive trees and honey;”  It is an image I totally relate to, standing at our back door in California, looking out at the abundance of what we coaxed from our yard.  And now, I stand here, glimpsing the abundance of my new ‘promised land’: of meaningful work, a new community, and bright new opportunities ahead in this next phase of my career and my family’s life; the gifts of life bring us sustenance.

As we look over the Land of our lives – lands of streams and springs, walking paths and trees; of abundant produce and beauty; lands of shopping malls and billboards, of life’s comforts and the illusion of security… we are always in some danger of forgetting the source of all of these gifts.  It is all too easy for us to think that what we have is solely because of our own work, our own education, our own talents, or our own perseverance.  It is too easy to forget that our successes depend on so many things beyond our own talents.  I know – it is too easy to be lulled into believing excessively in the extent of my own capacity – whether excess pride in our garden, or excess pride in the achievements that helped me to get to this moment.

Our tradition knows this danger.  Moses exhorts us to remember that with abundance and plenty comes the risk “that your heart will grow haughty and you will forget Adonai your God” (8:14) and “You will say in your heart: My power and the might of my hand have gotten me this wealth…” (8:17).

Ah, you might think, but that isn’t me, is it? I am not haughty or egotistical or self-impressed…..for myself, I could look at all the good that I have done – we shared our abundant harvest with neighbors, friends and family;  or – look at what a great job I am already doing here at NVHC!  We all pride ourselves on a job well done. We all consider ourselves deserving of the profits of our labor.

The concern for the tendency of humanity toward self-promotion and need for appreciation and admiration is clearly addressed here– a trap for each of us.  But – here’s the beautiful part – we are given a way to avoid that path of arrogance, to avoid thinking that all that we have achieved is by our own hands alone. The prescription for how to counteract this is here, in the verses that follow, in the commandment embedded in this section: ‘V’achalta v’savata uveirachta’ – after we have eaten the manna that God has provided, and we are satiated, we are to give thanks – literally offer blessing to God, the ultimate source of all of our sustenance.  That is, when we start thinking this way, we are to remember that our strength was, after all, given to us by God.

Gratitude for the source of life, to the Source of Life, is meant to be at our center. And how does Torah describe the consequences of not holding this consciousness? “If you do forget the Eternal your God . . . I warn you this day that you shall certainly perish.” (Deuteronomy 8:19).  Will God really come and strike us down? Unlikely – at least not in my theological construct.  But, look around at our world.  At people whose lives seem full of stuff, who procure every material thing that they desire, who are never left wanting for food or clothing.  That is only sufficient if we can recognize that things are fleeting; without expressed and understood gratitude and blessing for all that we have, our lives become overrun with an endless spiritual hunger, bereft of finding true joy and sustenance, even when our bellies are full of manna.

There is a teaching from Menachem Mendyl of Rymanov, an 18th Century chasidic teacher who teaches that the virtue of manna was that it was given every day in appropriate measure to each person’s needs.  Even so, this did not quench the cravings of the Israelites, for their cravings were spiritual in nature. Food feeds the body but not the spirit. The human spirit is such that we crave more than bread. While we may pursue money or materialism, there is a spiritual dimension of life that ultimately satisfies the soul, making our existence feel truly worthwhile.

The successes we achieve do not guarantee our happiness. After we’ve bought the house of our dreams, or our fantasy sports car, the latest cell phones, laptops or DVDs, we are all too often looking to the next thing. This is the essence of our teaching here: For satisfaction to be lasting, it must be more than material; it must be spiritual. It is right here in this week’s reading: “…in order to teach you that a human being does not live on bread alone…” meaning, we need more than bread and money; we need stimulation and a sense of meaningful achievement. We need to know that our lives have purpose, and that somehow we have made a difference. We want to be assured that our work is productive and will have lasting value.

The spiritual challenge of Ekev therefore becomes how to break the spell of consumerism – the human obsession with acquisition and ownership – whose power over us rests only in our continual dissatisfaction.  Amitai Etzioni, a professor at George Washington University, writes: “Shifting away from obsessive consumerism does not call for a life of sackcloth and ashes, nor of altruism. And it does not call on poor people or poor nations to be content with their fate and learn to love their misery; clearly, the capitalist economy must be strong enough to provide for the basic creature comforts of all people. But it does call for a new balance between consumption and other human pursuits.” Physical and spiritual.  True Sustenance requires meaning.

One more story: It is of a prisoner in a Russian labor camp whose job it was to turn a heavy wheel attached to a wall. For twenty-five years, the prisoner worked at his backbreaking labor. He assumed that this wheel must be attached to a mill on the other side of the wall; perhaps he was milling grain, or pumping water that irrigated many fields. In his mind’s eye, though, he saw the plentiful crops and the sacks of milled grain feeding thousands of people. After twenty-five years of hard labor, when he was about to be released, the prisoner asked to be shown the apparatus behind the prison wall. There was nothing there! The wheel was just a wheel—all his “work” had served no useful purpose. The man collapsed in a dead faint, absolutely devastated. His life’s work had been in vain.

What we find here about living is that it is upon us to go beyond just eating and being satisfied, but it is rather in making the opportunity to acknowledge that we are part of a larger world, that much as we like to think we are in control, and whatever one’s theology, belief in God, looks like, it is just not all in our hands.  As we approach the transformative time of our High Holy Days, may we find ways to explore how we can truly sustain our souls in order that we can pursue real t’shuvah – a true turning to our best selves.

Shamor V’zachor

Anniversaries bring moments of reflection – times of looking backward, look ahead.  So as John and I celebrate our anniversary next week, I am once again thinking about our years and life together as we have built our family. Our marriage, which joined us and our 4 relatively young kids together, opened up many opportunities to share and retell the stories of our lives – not just as a couple, but with new ‘audiences’ for our stories in each other’s children.   The kids were all eager to listen, to absorb, and ultimately to embrace the stories as their own.  It is both entertaining and awesome to hear them talk now, to hear one of my daughters begin, ‘do you remember the time when John chased his brother David up the tree?’, or when my step-daughter talks about where I grew up – retelling and recounting moments of family history that preceded them, that preceded our family coming together– talking as if they had been right there, as if these were their own stories all along! The tales have grown over the years, taking on a bit of a life of their own.

In the Book of Deuteronomy, which we began last week, Moses is a skilled storyteller.  At the end of his life, he is standing before the generation of Israelites who would soon enter the Land of Israel – this is not the same generation that left Egypt, nor the same people who stood at Mount Sinai. This new generation, therefore, must hear stories of their history, so that they can embrace them and experience it as their own, to bring it with them as they journey forward.  That is why we find so much repetition from the first four books of Torah repeated in this 5th book.  Moses works hard to really get and keep their attention; rather than a dry retelling of the laws and history, he draws the people into the events of the past, telling it in ways so that they could really feel it as if they were there. One particular repetition, found in this week’s parasha – Va’etchanan, is of particular note and interest: The experience at Sinai.  In Parashat Va’etchanan, Moses recounts for them that moment in time, restating its primary content: the Ten Commandments.  He whispers to them of the fire, of the thunder, of the darkness and the cloud of God’s presence hovering at the mountain…..we the readers, are also drawn in and can even imagine being there.

But, like any great storyteller, Moses embellishes.  A close reading of the Ten Commandments as recorded in Parashat Va’etchanan reveals deviations from the wording of the Ten Commandments in Exodus. Many scholars have offered explanations of these variances, each taking into account one or more of the relevant factors of time, place, experience, purpose and point of view of those hearing the speech and of the speech itself.

At Mount Sinai, the people were terrified by the sound of God’s voice; they begged Moses to go get the Torah and bring it to them, saying (in Exodus 20:16) “Speak with us, and we will hear; but let not God speak with us directly, lest we die.” In this week’s portion Moses recounts that moment in this way: “God talked with you face to face in the mountain; out of the midst of the fire I stood between God and you at that time, to tell you the word of God; for you were afraid because of the fire, and wouldn’t go up to the mountain, so [here is what ]God said: ‘I am the Eternal your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, from the house of slavery…” (Deut. 5:4-6). So for starters, it might seem just from the text and Moses’ introduction to the 10 Commandments in Deuteronomy that the Exodus version was the original version, and here Moses is doing a recap, a paraphrase!

9th Century commentator Ibn Ezra supports this idea, stating that the Ten Commandments as found in Exodus are the words of God, while those found in here in this week’s portion are the words of Moses recounting God’s words; he finds evidence for this in the addition of the phrase “…as the Lord your God has commanded you.” to commandments #4 (Shabbat) and #5 (honoring parents); however, in the introduction to his Torah commentary, he does not ascribe further significance in meaning to the different versions.

When our kids embellish our stories, or their stories, it is entertaining, maybe even endearing, possibly irritating!  But Moses?? Really? Perhaps he was trying to make history more accessible, more understandable, with explanatory comments tailored to different audiences –his first audience were the newly-freed slaves; his later audience were the generation that grew up in the desert.

For now , there is one difference, one embellishment which catches my eye every week as it is highlighted in our Shabbat prayers. It is in the 4th Commandment, concerning Shabbat.

In Exodus 20:8, it says “Zachor et Yom HaShabbat,” Those of you who might know some Hebrew words may recognize that “Zahor” comes from the same word as “Yizkor” or “Zikaron”—do you know what that word means?   “Remember,” right?  So “Zachor et Yom HaShabbat,” means “remember the Sabbath.”

In this week’s portion, Deuteronomy 5:11,  we have a different beginning.  It says “Shamor et Yom HaShabbat.” “Shamor” – maybe you’ve heard: the words ‘Shomeir’ – a guard, or “Shomrim,” those are people who watch over someone after they’ve died, so what is “Shamor?”  So this is “Guard” or “keep” or “protect” or “watch over.” ‘Keep – Shamor (or, guard) the Shabbat day.”

The word ‘remember’, zachor, in Exodus is replaced with ‘guard’ (or ‘keep’), shamor in Deuteronomy, and the additional phrase – ka’asher tziv’cha Adonai Elohecha –  “as the Eternal your God has commanded you” is tacked on.

But that’s not all!  Exodus 20:8-9 continues: “Six days shall you labor, and do all your work; But the seventh day is Shabbat of the Eternal your God; on it you shall not do any work, you, nor your son, nor your daughter, your manservant, nor your maidservant, nor your cattle, nor your stranger that is within your gates.” While Deuteronomy 5:12-13 states: “Six days you shall labor, and do all your work; But the seventh day is Shabbat of the Eternal your God; on it you shall not do any work, you, nor your son, nor your daughter, nor your manservant, nor your maidservant, nor your ox, nor your ass, nor any of your cattle, nor your stranger who is inside your gates; that your manservant and your maidservant may rest as well as you.

The additional words in Deuteronomy do not contradict the Exodus version in any way; while they expand the perspective of our livestock, it also add another idea of purpose: “that your manservant and your maidservant may rest as well as you.”

And wait, there’s more! In the last part of the 4th commandment comes the reason for Shabbat; it is here that we find two divergent rationales for Shabbat observance.  Exodus 20:10 reads: “For in six days God made the heavens and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, and rested on the seventh day; therefore God blessed the Shabbat day, and sanctified it.”  Deuteronomy 5:14 reads :  “And remember that you were a servant in the land of Egypt, and that the Almighty your God brought you out from there with a mighty hand and with an outstretched arm; therefore the Almighty your God commanded you to keep the Shabbat day.”

Wow, these are completely different!  In Exodus, the rationale for Shabbat is Creation: Shabbat is a sign of the Covenant, a testament to the wonder and power of creation. On the other hand, in Deuteronomy, the Shabbat is commanded as a reminder of our enslavement in Egypt, and of our liberation by God’s divine power. This is no mere explanatory or narrative instruction heaped on by the storyteller; they are two vastly different reasons for observance of Shabbat.

Zachor and Shamor – Just as these opening words of the two versions are familiar to me, they probably familiar to you, because we sing them together every week.  If I begin the phrase, which opens “Shamor V’Zachor B’dibur echad”, can you finish it? …. Yes, “hishmi-anu el han’yuchad.” Where does that come from, what prayer, do you remember?  Right, it comes from L’cha Dodi.  Let’s open to that in your siddurim and look at it for a minute.   It’s on page 138.

(sing): “Shamor V’Zachor B’dibur echad.”—it says that “Shamor”— “guard”— “v’zachor”— “remember”—Shamor and Zachor were said as if God uttered it in one utterance.  What does that really mean?  Well, most traditional commentaries refer us to the nature of Divine Speech (Talmud, Shevu’ot 20b): that is, zachor and shamor were uttered by God simultaneously, in a way that human speech is incapable of imitating or understanding:

L’cha Dodi is a piyut – a creative and inspired Shabbat poem, whose author drew upon these commentaris that express a belief that God really uttered them almost in one breath, and that “remembering” and “observing” (zachor and shamor) are two distinct acts, and that we must do both.  That is, you really can’t have one without the other.  “Remembering” is what one does in order to prepare for Shabbat — perhaps thinking about what one is going to do to make Shabbat special. “Guarding/Observing” Shabbat is what one does on Shabbat itself.   They are not necessarily the same thing.  We can easily imagine a 24-hour period in which we disengage from creative activity as a way to express Divine rest, a sterile day of no work in which we have indeed fulfilled the commandment of zachor to the letter– honoring the cessation of work at the end of creation – without actually having observed Shabbat.  Similarly, one could prepare down to the last detail for Shabbat – cooking, preparing, saying Kiddush, even sitting in synagogue, and yet still not keep Shabbat – missing the essence of the sacred rest. Each aspect of Shabbat together creates a complete, sanctified day of rest. In effect, that is how God could utter zachor and shamor simultaneously.

But, that still leaves us with the question: why is “Shamor” first in the piyut when in the Torah “Zachor” comes first and “Shamor” comes later, in this week’s version?

Here is perhaps one clue: this beautiful piyut was written in the 16th century by a famous mystic named Shlomo Alkabetz.  There’s this aesthetic thing that paytanim – piyut writers – love to do, which is to write the verses of their works as an acrostic, which means if you take the first letter of each stanza, it spells something.  So what do you see if you look—start with the first stanza if you can read Hebrew: Shin, Lamed, Mem, Het.  Do you know what that spells?  Shlomo!  That’s his name!  But ‘Alkabetz’ would be very cumbersome to try to compose lines for, so he doesn’t spell out his last name on the other stanzas, he instead spells “the Levite” so he’s “Shlomo HaLevi.”  So there’s one reason that the verse begins with shamor, not with “Zachor”, in order to easily spell his name!

While this an amusing answer, it does not really satisfy, for it seems way too narcissistic for a great mystic to decide to change the order of words from Torah just so that it would spell his name out.  So, other commentaries offer the following: that “shamor” refers to commandments that are associated with nighttime; when you think about things that you guard, you guard things in the evening when things get dark and they need protection and guarding, and “zachor” are things that you remember when you’re awake during the day.

How does that help us understand this and give it meaning? Well, in Judaism, a day begins when?  …..When the sun sets, in the evening.  So, as we begin Shabbat right now, this evening, we begin with “shamor” – because it is the nighttime, so we’re going to ‘shamor’ first and then in the day tomorrow, we’ll ‘zachor’.

A third possible understanding for why the order here is “Shamor v’zachor” is that the Sages teach that “Shamor” refers to all the commandments around Shabbat that you have to guard against, meaning all the negative commandments, the things that you shouldn’t do on Shabbat, in order to observe Shabbat. “Zachor” then refers to all the positive commandments, all the things that help you make Shabbat meaningful and embrace its beauty and rest – things like lighting the candles, sanctifying the wine, taking a rest.  We should consider the things first that get in our way of observing Shabbat so that we can then embrace the things that help us, both sides then of our observance coming together.

I said earlier that God’s uttering both words simultaneously was considered beyond human comprehension.  Let’s consider for a moment the human capacity in how we hear more than one thing at the same time.  We all hear selectively – we may think that our kids are really great at this(!). How does this order of the words Shamor v’zachor matter for us today?  What do we selectively hear? What is it that we need to hear?

This Fourth Commandment tells us to remember the Sabbath as well as to keep it. And when we try to remember the vision of the holiness of life that is embedded in Shabbat, we help create the conditions – an atmosphere of true peace and repose – making it possible for others to remember Shabbat, and its meaning, too. And all of that remembering brings us closer to a world in which the idea of Shabbat can be transformed into genuine force and action for the betterment of all communities.

The link between Shabbat and the community it creates is highlighted by Ahad HaAm, a pre-State-of-Israel Zionist thinker who said, “More than Israel has kept the Sabbath, the Sabbath has kept Israel.” He certainly meant more in this statement than Jewish survivalism. He saw that in the new Jewish homeland, the regulation of time through the laws of the Sabbath gave the Jews the chance to regroup in communities at the end of every week, and it was that regrouping which sustained their Jewish identity. Shabbat fosters community; it coordinates non-work time. It makes people stop working not only for 25 hours a week, but for the same 25 hours a week.  When, as a community we share non-work time, when we look up from our tasks, our computers, our smart phones – and start to look into the actual (not virtual) faces of others, we see family, we see neighbors, we see people.  Not bosses, or employees, or service people – and it is in relationships between people that we forge bonds of a loving and caring community.

For me, I believe that Ahad Ha’am’s intention in noting that Shabbat has kept our people together turns Shabbat into the clock for Jewish living. It is a remarkable idea that we become more Divine when we stop our endeavors, and simply appreciate all that we have.  Shabbat provides a necessary “release from our daily grind” and resting becomes a collective act.  That we need Shabbat in our lives then makes obvious, intuitive sense. Society and cultural trends today involve advanced technology which while enhancing the quality of our lives also puts us into a state of endless, inescapable ‘on-ness’.  Here, we generally begin together, as we did tonight, by asking you to unplug, to turn off, even to just put your phones on vibrate – and I know that is truly difficult for some.  But without some sort of framework or boundary, we become blurred, with a loss of appropriate boundaries between day and night, work and rest, consumption and appreciation.

The Sages point out that these two perspectives of Shamor and Zachor point to the duality of holy time in Judaism – that is, our sacred moments have more than one purpose, one expression. We can observe Shabbat individually or we can observe Shabbat connected to others. We can choose certain actions to do only on Shabbat and we can choose certain actions to put aside until after Shabbat. We can choose to observe Shabbat on Friday night or we can choose to observe it on Saturday. We can begin Shabbat with beautiful rituals and music and we can end Shabbat with beautiful rituals and music. This duality is one of the many reasons we light two Shabbat candles every Friday night.

Being a Jew has always meant finding a place on the spectrum between keeping all the commandments and keeping none.  Contrary to claims made by certain Jewish authorities, there have always been many paths of practice in Judaism. You can observe – guard – Shabbat in one way or many ways, to the letter of the law or honoring its spirit.  I believe the important part is that you are always seeking, growing, and learning.  I once learned that rather than rejecting something that we don’t do or don’t want to do, we should instead say it is something we don’t do yet – allowing always for the possibility of change that can exist in every moment.

So perhaps you will one day turn your phone off for an hour on Shabbat and give yourself a little peace. Or take a walk that you have put off. Or put off a chore that could be done a different day. Just for a little while. Shamor – Find what is in your heart, the kavanah, the intent of your practice; this will guide you to remember – Zachor.   As you think, you can embrace your ways to observe, leading you around to act, to guard  – Shamor – this precious heritage that is the continuous cycle of our communal moment of holy cessation. Shamor v’zachor – keep and remember. Shabbat shalom.

 


 

 

Chazak

All I can think about is Israel.  As a Jew, as one who has family and friends living there, as one who has lived there myself, as one who is connected to the life of our people that looks to the east – to our spiritual homeland – I am so troubled by the events in the Middle East.  The violence against innocents, the skewed news reporting, the insanity of hatred….on all sides. The flood of articles, of blogs, of emails, of Facebook posts all make it almost impossible to think clearly anymore.  I consider myself to be more passionate than eloquent on the subject, feeling that I must put something in writing here, to acknowledge the struggle and the pain of this time.  Even the struggle to somehow find meaning in this all through Torah feels like an overwhelming climb.

So I share here two things:

One is a link to an piece that resonates particularly well with me, and I am grateful to Rabbi Menachem Creditor for his thoughtful and inspiring, yet difficult words.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/rabbi-menachem-creditor/im-done-apologizing-for-i_b_5606650.html

The other is my own simple prayer – that as we conclude the Book of Numbers this week, we will say together as a community as we do whenever we finish a book of Torah, ‘Chazak, chazak, v’nitchazeik’.  Be strong, be strong, and let us strengthen one another. This week, more than any other, may that be so.

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