Swan Song

Temple Emanu-El Providence
Shabbat Chazon, 2012/5772

Shabbat Shalom.

A parable: A servant, who has served his King already many years, is promoted in the King’s court and invited to live in the castle. Before he is permitted to move in, however, he is required to meet with the King’s most trusted advisor, who reminds the servant both of his successes and of his failures during his years of service. Why (our sages ask)? Because it was his successes that got him the promotion; it will be the way he overcomes his failures that will allow him to keep it.

We began the book of D’varim this week with the words “אלה הדברים” – “these are the words”. The Rabbis note that usually the word eleh – “these” is used in reference to a text preceding it, but since it is the first word in a new book of the Torah, its use here piques their interest. They conclude almost universally that eleh refers to another kind of words: that is, it implies that the words with which Moshe begins are words of rebuke.

The book of D’varim is particularly interesting to the biblical reader because it is a unique window into Moshe’s own psyche. Finally, we hear truly how Moshe thinks and feels, in contrast to his pervasive silence, as Rabbi Babchuck pointed out last week, regarding the events and dicta he is required to communicate throughout Sh’mot, VaYikra, and Bemidbar. In D’varim, which is essentially Moshe’s swan song and good-bye speech, Moshe spans the gamut of emotions and literary forms, showing us not only his rebuke, but his poetry, his love, his assertiveness, and his anxiety.

Moshe displays anxiety in particular toward his imminent death and toward leaving his people, but there is one anxiety that speaks loudest to me today: that is, Moshe’s anxiety about the impending transition of leadership from him to Joshua. Not only do we witness Moshe’s anxiety over the course of this book; we also witness his acceptance.

Seven times over the course of D’varim Joshua’s name is mentioned. The first two, in Chapter 1 and Chapter 3 of D’varim respectively, are simply Moshe telling the people what God had commanded him:

גַּם-בִּי הִתְאַנַּף יְהוָה, בִּגְלַלְכֶם לֵאמֹר:  גַּם-אַתָּה, לֹא-תָבֹא שָׁם. יְהוֹשֻׁעַ בִּן-נוּן הָעֹמֵד לְפָנֶיךָ, הוּא יָבֹא שָׁמָּה; אֹתוֹ חַזֵּק, כִּי-הוּא יַנְחִלֶנָּה אֶת-יִשְׂרָאֵל

“God was angry with me because of you. He told me, ‘You will not go there [into the land]. But Joshua son of Nun, who stands before you, he will go. Strengthen him, for he is the one who will secure Israel’s possession of it .'” (Devarim 1:37-38)

After Moshe once again reinforces God’s frustration with him for asking, Moshe reports that as he overlooked the land of Israel from Pisgah, God said to him:

וְצַו אֶת-יְהוֹשֻׁעַ, וְחַזְּקֵהוּ וְאַמְּצֵהוּ:  כִּי-הוּא יַעֲבֹר, לִפְנֵי הָעָם הַזֶּה, וְהוּא יַנְחִיל אוֹתָם, אֶת-הָאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר תִּרְאֶה

“Look well, for you shall not cross over this Jordan. But charge Joshua, and encourage and strengthen him, because it is he who shall cross over at the head of this people and who shall secure their possession of the land that you will see.’”(Devarim 3:28).

Moshe seems to be treading on thin ice here, not wanting to betray negative feelings for Joshua to the nation, as he knows that Joshua is God’s chosen next leader; it is clear, though, that he’s feeling resentful and perhaps supplanted by this replacement.

Rashi, our teacher, comments that when God commands Moshe to “charge Joshua” that this regards the burdens and the hardships of his post. Rashi continues by quoting Sifrei, saying that God wants Moshe to charge Joshua in particular “with your words, so that he will not be discouraged, saying, ‘Just as my teacher was punished, so will I be punished because of them.’ I assure him [says God] that he will cross over [before this people] and he will make [them] inherit [the land].”

We, the biblical readers, and presumably Moshe as well, had been introduced to Joshua in the story of the twelve spies (which, despite the fact that we read about it only a few weeks ago, occurred chronologically 38 years prior to entering the land of Israel). When Moshe met Joshua, his name was “Hoshea,” and we are told, in one of the only re-naming stories not initiated by God, that “Moshe called Hoshea bin Nun – Yehoshua / Joshua”. Did this imply some kind of ongoing relationship? Perhaps. It’s unclear. We at least know from this that Moshe and Joshua were aware of each other for thirty-eight years. This also implies, by the way, that Joshua had to have been old enough to have endured slavery in Egypt, whereas that whole generation was destined to be wiped out before the nation could enter the land of Israel. Did Moshe think that he, instead of Joshua, should have been entitled to cross both the Reed Sea and the Jordan River, unlike any others of his generation?

After the verse in Chapter 3, Joshua is not mentioned again until 28 chapters later, in D’varim 31, as Moshe prepares for death. Here, however, Moshe’s tone is very different. He acknowledges his 120 years, and notes that he’s tired of all the “going and coming”. Here, he is more accepting of the reality that his journey will end on this side of the river. He tells the people, then, that God will help them fight their battles, and that Joshua will lead the people. And here, he finally blesses and strengthens Joshua:

ז וַיִּקְרָא מֹשֶׁה לִיהוֹשֻׁעַ, וַיֹּאמֶר אֵלָיו לְעֵינֵי כָל-יִשְׂרָאֵל חֲזַק וֶאֱמָץ–כִּי אַתָּה תָּבוֹא אֶת-הָעָם הַזֶּה, אֶל-הָאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר נִשְׁבַּע יְהוָה לַאֲבֹתָם לָתֵת לָהֶם; וְאַתָּה, תַּנְחִילֶנָּה אוֹתָם.  ח וַיהוָה הוּא הַהֹלֵךְ לְפָנֶיךָ, הוּא יִהְיֶה עִמָּךְ–לֹא יַרְפְּךָ, וְלֹא יַעַזְבֶךָּ; לֹא תִירָא, וְלֹא תֵחָת

“Then Moses summoned Joshua and said to him in the sight of all Israel: ‘Be strong and bold, for you are the one who will go with this people into the land that the Lord has sworn to their ancestors to give them; and you will put them in possession of it. It is the Lord who goes before you. He will be with you; He will not fail you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed.’”

Well, I think it’s obvious why my last Shabbat at Temple Emanu-El might be a time that Moshe’s anxiety about transition speaks to me.

Let me be clear: I do not resent or feel supplanted by the new ritual director. Having spoken with Paul Stouber and having put him through “Ritual Director Boot Camp,” and having left him with an extensive “Ritual Director Handbook,” I am confident in his abilities to serve this congregation competently. In Paul we have found someone who is organized, who cares deeply for the Temple Emanu-El community, who will not merely strive to teach our students but invest in them and enjoy teaching them.

As Moshe’s final words to Joshua, in the eyes of all of the people, were meant to strengthen him and help him prepare for leading this people, I have a few words to share with Paul, though I admit they are not my own. Davin Wolok, ritual director in Chestnut Hill, MA, beautifully composed the following words, which are excerpted from his piece entitled “A Ritual Director’s Hineni”. I hope you, Paul, and everyone present can take them to heart:

O God, I thank you for the miracle of encounter,

for the moment of meeting those into whose path I come.

Teach me to appreciate the importance of simply being there, of being present to those who are seized by grief and whose pain may be felt to be unbearable.

Teach me to support those at an earlier stage who, excited yet nervous,

stand upon the threshold of adulthood within our community.

Teach me to value words, written and spoken, to young and old alike.

For more than wanting things do they desire words of kindness and understanding.

“You matter” means more than objects of matter.

Teach me to value teaching, whether the content taught be a skill

or an idea for the mind – and the heart.

Teach me to sense that the heart desires song.

Let our Torah be chanted.

The meaning of the text and its music are one.

Teach me to value the experience of sharing in the happiness of others.

Let me feel the beauty and dearness of tears of joy.

Teach me to be there and to give to those whom I meet

in the “space” You have created called life.

God, let me know that I am a moment in Your eternal drama. […]

Let me touch and be touched by my fellows, whom You have created. […]

Moshe’s swan song begins with eleh had’varim – “these are the words”. It is not as clear to me, as it might have been to our Sages, that the anomaly of the word eleh implies that Moshe’s first words were those of rebuke. Instead, let us contrast this Moshe, who prepares with this phrase to give a five-week long good-bye speech, to the one who told God at the beginning that he was “k’vad peh ukh’vad lashon” – heavy of mouth and heavy of tongue, that is, not skilled in speaking. Eleh – these words, the words of a man who at once didn’t feel he could stand on his own two feet as a leader. Look how far he’s come.

It has been my privilege to have served Temple Emanu-El these past three years. In line with my favorite mishna in the first chapter of Pirkei Avot, you have made me your teacher, you have found in me a friend, and you have judged me favorably. You have each taught me important lessons, and, as I move forward, I take these with me. Thank God, unlike Moshe’s relationship with the Israelite nation, which ends on the mountain, I can anticipate happily, albeit from afar, an ongoing relationship with Temple Emanu-El, and I hope that many of you will stay in touch.

Shabbat Shalom.

On Light and Memory

Today is the fourth yahrzeit of my grandfather, C. Lawrence (“Larry”) Eisen, z”l. As is common custom, I have completed some Torah study in his memory for today.

But first, some memories.

My grandfather majored in Electrical Engineering at Brooklyn Tech High School, from which he graduated around 1940. He told me that the skills he acquired at Brooklyn Tech allowed him to join not only the manufacturing staff at his subsequent job, it actually allowed him to join the lab, “in which testing was done on that electrical equipment” that was being manufactured: sinine rectifiers (which apparently change alternating current into direct current). When, in 1941, my grandfather was drafted to serve in the American army in World War II, he then joined the signal corps, which involved “telecommunications between various parts of the army.”

I remember that one time when we were kids, Grandpa Larry and Grandma Norma brought us a prism. (It was sometime when we were living in our second house probably before we renovated the kitchen, so it had to have been sometime between 1994-1996, but I can’t remember precisely when.) I will admit that that day I was more amused by the pretty colors that appeared on the wall opposite me rather than wondering about what made the colors appear, but I remember as Grandma and Grandpa patiently tried to explain it to us nonetheless. I remember how happy it made Grandpa to try to get us to understand these concepts. It was that day that Grandpa explained to me how a sprinkler makes a rainbow appear. Maybe that’s why I’ve since loved chasing rainbows. Maybe that bit of understanding has contributed to how excited I am to say the b’rachah prescribed for viewing a rainbow – the more I understand, the more in awe I am of divine Creation.

And in that vein, in my grandfather’s memory, my study this year has focused on light. Particularly, I have focused on the first b’rachah preceding the Sh’ma in the morning service, called “birkat yotzér,” in which we praise God for the light He gives us every day. Commonly, the weekday version of birkat yotzér appears in the siddur as follows (translation adapted from Silverman siddur):

barukh ‘atah ‘adonai, ‘elohénu melekh ha’olam, yotzér ‘or uvoré hoshekh, ‘oseh shalom uvoré ‘et hakol.
Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, Former of light and Creator of darkness, Maker of peace, and Creator of all.

Okay: God is the Creator of light, darkness, peace, and everything. A good opening. We continue:

hame’ir la’aretz veladarim ‘aleha berahamim. uvtuvo mehaddésh bekhol yom tamid ma’aseh vereisheet. mah rabu ma’asekha adonai. kulam behokhmah ‘asita. mal’ah ha’aretz kinyanekha. hamelekh hamromam levado mei’az. hamshubah vehamfo’ar vehamitznasé mimot olam. ‘elohei ‘olam. berahamekha harabim rahem alénu. ‘adon ‘uzénu, tsur misgabénu, magén yish’énu, misgav ba’adénu.
In mercy You bring light to the earth and to those who dwell in it, and in Your goodness You continually renew each day the miracle of Creation. How great are You works, O Lord; in wisdom You have made them all; the earth is full of Your handiwork. O King, You alone have been exalted from times eternally past, and You will be praised and glorified until all eternity. O everlasting God, in Your abundant mercy have compassion upon us. O Lord of our strength, sheltering Rock, Shield of our salvation, You are a stronghold unto us. 

‘el barukh gedol dé’ah, hékhin ufa’al zoharé hamah. tov yatzar kevod lishmo. me’orot natan sevivot ‘uzo. pinot tzeva’av kedoshim. romemé shaddai. tamid mesaperim kevod ‘él uk’dushato. titbarakh ‘adonai ‘elohénu ‘al shevah ma’asé yadekha. ve’al me’oré ‘or she’asita yefa’arukha selah.
O God, blessed and all knowing, You have designed handmade the radiance of the sun. You, O Beneficent One, have wrought glory to Your name; You have set luminaries around Your strength. All Your hosts in heaven continually declare Your high praises and Your holiness, O Almighty. May You be blessed, O Lord our God, for the excellence of Your handiwork and for the bright luminaries which You have made; all shall glorify You.

It is clear, still, that we are praising God for His creation of the celestial bodies – the sun, in particular. All of these in heaven praise God. Still straightforward. We continue:

titbarakh tzurénu malkénu vego’alénu boré kedoshim. yishtabah shimkha la’ad malkénu, yotzér meshar’tim, va’asher mesharetav kulam ‘omedim berum ‘olam. ‘umashmi’im beyir’ah yahad divré ‘elohim hayyim ‘umelekh ‘olam. kulam ‘ahuvim, kulam berurim, kulam giborim, vekhulam ‘osim be’émah ‘uvyir’ah retzon konam. vekhulam potekhim ‘et pihem bikdushah ‘uvtohorah, beshirah ‘uvzimrah. ‘umvar’khim, ‘umshabekhim, ‘umfa’arim, ‘uma’aritzim, ‘umakdishim, ‘umamlikhim…
May You be blessed, our Rock, our King, our Redeemer, our Creator of ministering angels who, as envisaged by the prophet, stand in the heights of the universe and together proclaim with awe the words of the living God and the everlasting King. All the heavenly hosts are beloved; all are pure; all are mighty; and all in holiness and purity, with song and psalm, all bless and revere, sanctify and ascribe sovereignty…

‘et shém ha’el hamelekh hagadol hagibbor vehanora, kadosh hu. vekhulam mekabbelim ‘aléhem ‘ol malkhut shamayim zeh mizeh. venotenim reshut zeh lazeh lehakdish leyotzeram benahat ruah. besafah berurah uvin’imah kedoshah, kulam ke’ehad ‘onim ve’omerim beyir’ah:
… to the Name of God, the great, mighty, awe-inspiring and holy King. They all pledge to one another to accept the yoke of the Kingdom of Heaven and give sanction to one another to hallow their Creator. In tranquil spirit, with pure speech and sacred melody they all respond in unison and reverently proclaim:

kadosh, kadosh, kadosh ‘adonai tseva’ot, melo khol ha’aretz kevodo.
“Holy, Holy, Holy is the Adonai Tseva’ot, the whole earth is full of His glory.”

veha’ofanim vehayot hakodesh bera’ash gadol mitnase’im le’umat serafim. le’umatam meshabbehim ve’omerim:
And the Ofanim and the Holy Beasts, in great sound proclaim to the leagues of Seraphim. They utter praises and proclaim,

barukh kevod ‘adonai mimmekomo.
“Blessed be the glory of the Lord that fills the universe.”

The ministering angels and all of the other celestial beings proclaim God’s holiness and His presence. The text then ties together its previous few paragraphs: beings singing, God is enduring, God combats evil, God is the Lord of wonders, and God made the heavenly lights.

l’él barukh ne’imot yiténu lemelekh ‘él hai vekayam, zemirot yomeru vetishbahot yashmi’u. ki hu levado po’él gevurot. ‘oseh hadashot, ba’al milhamot, zoré’a tsedakot, matzmiah yeshu’ot, boré refu’ot, nora tehilot, ‘adon hanifla’ot, hamhadésh betuvo bekhol yom tamid ma’asé v’réshit. ka’amur: le’oseh ‘orim gedolim, ki le’olam hasdo.
“To the blessed God they offer a sweet song; to the Ruler, the living and ever-enduring God, they utter hymns and make their praises heard; for He alone works mighty deeds and makes new things. He is the Lord who combats evil, sowing righteousness and causing salvation to spring forth. He creates healing, for He is the Lord of wonders and is revered in praises. In His goodness He renews the creation every day continually, as it is said in the Psalm: “Give thanks to He who made new lights, for His mercy endures forever.”

Up until this point, the liturgical text is clearly unified. God’s greatness, ministering angels, celestial bodies. With this in mind, what comes next is surprising:

Or hadash ‘al tsiyon ta’ir, venizkeh khulanu m’hérah le’oro. barukh ‘atah ‘adonai, yotzér hame’orot.
O cause a new light to shine on Zion, and may we all be worthy to delight in its splendor. Blessed are You, O Lord, Creator of Light.

The b’rachah at the end, acknowledging God as Creator of Light, nicely finishes this extended blessing — but where did Zion enter our discussion?

9th-century Jewish Babylonian scholar Saadia Gaon was unhappy with the insertion of Zion into this b’rachah, and omitted it in his siddur. The commentary to this section in the siddur of Saadia Gaon’s contemporary, Amram Gaon, indicates the following (before deciding to include this phrase in his compendium anyway):

Our master Saadia said that it is forbidden to say “And cause a new light to shine on Zion” in this blessing. Why? Because we are not blessing about the light to come in the days of the Messiah, but rather about the light that we see each and every morning. 

Abe Katz, a pre-eminent scholar of tefilah in our generation and the founder of the Beurei Hatefila Institute, included in his commentary on this text the words of Naftali Weider, who apparently found the following in the handwritten manuscripts of Saadia Gaon (Katz’s translation):

“Between all that I heard about the additions and the deletions within the three B’rachot of Kriyat Sh’ma, I found that two of the changes do not fit into the original intent of the authors. The first: there are those who recite the line beginning: “or chadash al tsiyon ta’eer, v’nizkeh koolanu mehérah le’oro.” […] It is prohibited to recite that line. The type of light that was the basis of the B’rakhah was the light of the sun itself and not something else ([i.e.] the light of the [Messiah]).”

Further, the Tur, Orah Hayyim 59, according to Katz’s assembly of sources, indicates that the recitation of this phrase is not recited as part of the Sephardic liturgy. It affirms Saadia Gaon’s position and indicates that Rashi’s position is the same. The Likutei Maharikh, a Chassidic commentary, says, however, that whether one’s inclinations direct him or her to include or omit this phrase, “one should not digress from the custom within his area.” This much-later Chassidic commentary, in fact, reads into the entire previous b’rachah the light of Zion and the Messiah, particularly angled toward its devotion to the Ba’al Shem Tov.

On the one hand, I agree with Saadia Gaon – now that it’s been called to my attention, the acknowledgment of Zion in this passage does seem out of place. Perhaps another example of minhag avoténu beyadénu – the custom of our ancestors is in our hands. While there was a place discuss its appearance in the 9th century, a piece of liturgy at least a millennium in its place feels permanent. However, as we daven in the days to come, it is perhaps important to be aware of the kavanah, the intention, of this paragraph. We thank God for His creating the celestial bodies which guide our days, our calendars, our tides, our sailors, and our lives. In this day and age, it is perhaps even more important that we acknowledge God’s power over the sun as we increasingly benefit from solar energy.

I never really got a straight answer about whether my grandfather believed in God, but it seemed to me that he did. He certainly davened when he was in shul. I do believe that from C. Lawrence Eisen I inherited an ability to see the divinity in physics and in the science of the world around me. God has given us the world to live in, to harness, to make our own, and He helps us embrace it every day. I loved and respected my grandfather with all of my heart; he was my teacher, he was my friend. Four years later, I still miss him, and I was blessed to have him in my family. May his memory be for a true blessing.

Sacred Trash

Handwritten inscription to an English copy of the Holy Bible published by the Jewish Publication Society in 1939, given as a gift to the author of this poem by his friend in 1944:

The Old Prayer Book by Jacob Cahan

This book of prayers, old and
stained with tears,
I take into my hand
And to the God of my fathers,
Who from ages past has been
their Rock and Refuge,
I call in my distress
In ancient words, peace,
With the pain of generations,
I pour out my woe
May these words that know
the heavenly path,
ascend aloft unto God on
high
To covey to Him that
which my tongue cannot
express. All that lies
deep hidden
within my heart,
may these words,
simple and true,
speak for me before God
Entreating His mercy
Perchance the Heavenly
God who hearkened to my
fathers prayers,
Who gave them courage
and strength
To bear all of their sorrow
and degradation
Yet ever to hope for
redemption —
Perchance He will also
hear my prayer and
hearken to my cry,
and be to me a protecting
shield,
For there is none to
help or sustain me,
But God in Heaven.

I have no words to supplement Cahan’s beautiful, heartfelt, incredibly personal prayer. This text, in the author’s own handwriting, was found inscribed in the front pages of a copy of an English Bible just saved from the geniza. I wonder – what other prayers, written and dreamed, have been buried among our sacred trash?

The Ocean and the Shabbat

Cape Cod Beach
Photo by Hinda Eisen, Keyes memorial Beach, June 5, 2012.

This morning, I jogged/walked the just-under-two miles to the Keyes Memorial Beach in Hyannis, MA. I hadn’t set out for it when I left the house, but when I ran into a road called “Sea Street,” knowing that I was close to the ocean, I figured there must be water at the end – so I decided to take an adventure. I’ll admit that I’ve never really been a beach person, and I wasn’t expecting to spend much time there – I expected to see the ocean, take a moment to admire it, and continue on my route back to the house. I miscalculated. Like the strong pull of an inward tide, I felt magnetically pulled down to where the soft waves were hitting the sand. Perhaps because it was a work day, or perhaps because the summer season hasn’t yet officially begun, or perhaps because it was 52 degrees Fahrenheit, I found myself alone on the sand. For a while, I walked just along the line where the wet sand turned dry. As I stared down, I saw some of the most beautiful, untrampled seashells.

After skipping over a number of large rocks in what appeared to be some kind of barrier for the creek leading under the road (shown above), I found one that was relatively dry and flat, and sat for a while. Staring out onto the horizon, I was confounded by the fact that I probably hadn’t seen the horizon in its unobstructed form, as is on the ocean, for quite some time. On land, we don’t see the true horizon much – trees, great buildings, roads, mountains, and other things all obscure our view.

At that moment, I was inspired to shevach – to praise God for His wonders. As I’m not generally the type of Jew who is inspired to Buddhist- or Hindu-style worship when I encounter nature, I turned to the b’rachot proscribed in the Mishnah.

ברוך אתה ה’, א-להנו מלך העולם, עושה מעשה בראשית.
Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who made the works of Creation.

And as I stared out onto the water, for the first time in a very long time, my mind went completely, blissfully, blank.

What is it about nature that so inspires us just to breathe? What is it about the simplicity and vastness of an ocean vista that inspires us to praise of Divine Creation? In this world where we are so attached to our “glowing rectangles” all the time, where we sit all day plugged into computers, telephones, mp3 players and other devices, an opportunity to just sit and feel a breeze blowing across our cheek is so rare that the experience becomes that much holier.

There has been a great effort recently to encourage young Jews to unplug, with a very American Jewish bent – not because “God or Religion Says So” but because it facilitates “the value of creating sacred ‘no connection’ time regularly”  (SabbathManifesto.org). Current kudos go to Rabbi Danny Nevins, who published “The Use of Electrical and Electronic Devices on Shabbat” for Conservative Judaism’s Committee on Jewish Law and Standards, officially approved by the committee May 31, 2012 (the entire text is available by clicking on the title above). His teshuvah (responsum) expresses not only reasons not to use electricity on Shabbat, but also deals with specific issues relating to modern technology and modern uses of technology. Rabbi Nevins indicates that there are two separate issues at play: Melakhah, which he defines as “actions which result in a durable physical change,” and Shvut, defined as “actions and even thoughts which compromise the tranquility of Shabbat and erode the distinctiveness of the seventh day.” He beautifully concludes that “By desisting from melakhah, we begin to appreciate the natural resources of our remarkable world and become able to resist the temptation to define life’s value primarily in terms of our our own actions. By dedicating the day to tranquility, we dignify our lives and are refreshed for the tasks awaiting us on the six days of labor” (p. 58).

You might know that there are two versions of the Ten Commandments that appear in the Torah: one which appears in Exodus 20 (we read this on the first day of Shavuot and in Parashat Yitro in January), and the other which appears in Deuteronomy 5 (Parashat Va’etchanan). In each set, the commandment for Shabbat is the fourth. Interestingly, in the Exodus account, Israel is commanded to remember Shabbat because “in six days did the Lord create the Heaven and Earth, and on the seventh day He rested” (Exodus 20: 8-11). However, in the Deuteronomy account, the Israelites are instructed to keep Shabbat because “You shall remember that you were slaves in Egypt and that the Lord your God brought you out of there with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm” (Deuteronomy 5:12-15). The Kiddush for Friday night uses both of these motifs (Creation and Exodus) in its sanctification of the day.

I have always felt that the difference between the rationale for Shabbat in these two accounts indicated a flexibility of purpose: Shabbat will always be there, but in each generation it may serve a different function for its observers. In the immediately post-Exodus generation, Shabbat perhaps served as a reminder of the One God, that God was the god of their ancestors. They had not been allowed to take a break from slavery on Shabbat; but God, more merciful than their Egyptian masters, not only allowed rest but required it. These folks did not need a reminder of the Exodus; they had just experienced it. In the next generation, the generation who would be fighting for their land and their lives in what would become the Kingdom of Israel, was charged with using Shabbat to remember that they were once enslaved, and that God delivered them – as he would deliver them now.

Perhaps in our generation, we need Shabbat to serve its purpose for us as set out in Exodus (and as indicated in Rabbi Nevins’ teshuvah) – we need Shabbat in order to remind us that God created the Heavens and the Earth. We need a day to leave our harried lives controlled by computers and cell phones and create a space in time for ourselves to recognize the godliness in the natural world.

May we all have a restful, peaceful Shabbat. May we all find time, whether on Shabbat or during the week, to appreciate the world around us, to notice something that perhaps has always been there but we haven’t seen before. And may we carry this peace with us throughout the rest of our days.

The Plight of the Three-Day Holiday

Shabbat into two days of yom tov is always difficult, even for those of us who have always been Shabbat-observant. It’s a mixed blessing: three days of unplugging, recharging our souls, can be great. On the other hand, the “real world” of those around us who have been plugged in during our absence from the cybersphere slaps us pretty squarely across the face the minute the stars come out. Nice piece by Rebecca Borison for Moment Magazine’s blog on this.

momentadmin's avatarInTheMoment

by Rebecca Borison

This past Friday, I turned off my iPhone at approximately 7 pm and prepared myself for three days of being disconnected. Shavuot happened to fall on Sunday and Monday, which meant that Shabbat led directly into the holiday, allowing no time to catch up on missed emails on Saturday night.

While I am used to unplugging for one day a week, the three-day holiday always poses a greater challenge: It’s a lot harder to deal with three days of unplugging than one. But ultimately, I found the three days to be more beneficial than bothersome. I was able to catch up with high school friends, play basketball with my younger brother, go to synagogue, and even read some George Eliot. Granted, I don’t think I’d be able to do it every week, but once in a while, it’s actually nice to disconnect for three days.

For observant…

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About the Hops Omer

The brilliant idea started with scotch (but who can afford 49 different kinds of scotch?)… and then migrated to other grain-related alcohols… and ended up at beer. 49 days of the Omer start the second night of Pesach (Passover), and we count upwards until the festival of Shavuot, 7 weeks later. It’s hard to remember to count 49 days in a row, but someone’s got to keep it all on track.

The one snafu: Beer and other grain alcohols are NOT kosher for Passover! So we’ll start with wine, or something else, for the first seven days. Then we’ll launch straight in. Join in on the fun!

Hinda, Aron, and Rick

An Old Message As If New

In 1927, a Jewish writer in Paris published one of the most stunning and optimistic memoirs of Jewish identity composed to date. He opens with this, speaking to his yet-unborn grandson:

     When will you be old enough to understand me? My eldest son is nineteen years old. When will you be born? In ten years, perhaps fifteen…. When will you read what I here set down? About 1950, 1960? Will people still read in 1960? What form will the world then take? Will the mechanical have suppressed the spiritual? Will the mind have created a new universe for itself? Will the problems that trouble me to-day exist for you? Will there be any Jews left?
I believe there will. They have survived the Pharaohs, Nebuchadnezzar, Constantine, Mohammed; they have survived the inquisition and assimilation; they will survive the automobile.1

Replace “automobile” with “iPad” or “cell phone,” and it could have been composed in 2009.

As we sit on the eve of Ta’anit Esther and Purim, I am keenly aware of how Edmond Fleg’s words ring so true in today’s American and global Judaism. Jews have endured and survived so many trials. I am also keenly aware that, having originally published this book in 1927, he could have never known that Jewish security would come crashing down once more, not a decade later, to face one of the most horrific crimes against humanity the world had yet seen. So, now, we can edit Fleg’s words: Jews have survived Pharaohs, Nebuchadnezzar, Constantine, Mohammed, and Hitler.

Fleg’s work reads like a journal. He dictates his own personal experiences, reflects on epiphanies he had along his journey of rejection and then rediscovery of Judaism, and poses questions he cannot answer. It is clear that Fleg is aware of the contemporary persecution of Jews around him; he addresses the political situation immediately post “Great War” and talks about impressions of Jews that surround him. He is greatly influenced by his immersion in secular society, finding, as all modern Jews strive toward, a sense of balance between the secular world and his Judaic roots.

     A Jewish Race?
It seems that all the anthropological types are found in Israel: broad-headed Jews, long-headed Jews, white Jews, yellow Jews, black Jews. Could Israel then only be a race in the spiritual sense? Could these different bloods for one blood because there flowed in them but one thought?”2

Fleg leaves us to read on his book without addressing this question – he leaves it hanging in the air so we feel it weighing on us throughout the rest of the experience we share with him. It was just twenty-four years before Fleg’s publication that Otto Weininger attempted a self-hating answer to this question. Weininger was a precocious Jewish psychologist (converted to Christianity at the start of his professional career) who published a 600-page textbook entitled Sex and Character in 1903 at age 23. The book contained a chapter entitled “A Jew Must Free Himself from Jewishness,” where Weininger asserted that Judaism was a racial psychosis inherited from parent to child, and undoubtedly irreversible. In contrast to Fleg’s beautiful words, Weininger’s sentiment here is haunting:

The Jewish race offers a problem of the deepest significance for the study of all races, and in itself it is intimately bound up with many of the most troublesome problems of the day. I must, however, make clear what I mean by Judaism; I mean neither a race nor a people nor a recognised creed. I think of it as a tendency of the mind, as a psychological constitution which is a possibility for all mankind, but which has become actual in the most conspicuous fashion only amongst the Jews.3

(Weininger then committed suicide because he felt that was the only way to purge the world of his “inferior” Judaism. The book itself was not published in English until 1906, when it achieved post-mortem recognition.) In today’s day and age, while we might try to be more “P.C.” than Fleg, we certainly recognize the same sentiment: Jews today come in all different colors, shapes, and sizes. Whether we are racially unified is a question more than anything of semantics, and social pressures, since the idea of Jews as a “Race” became taboo after Hitler (inspired, by the way, by Weininger’s work).

At the climax of his memoir, after having dictated his loss of faith and then his exploration through other faiths before his full-force return to Jewish commitment, Fleg leaves his reader with twelve statements, answering concisely and compellingly the question, “Why am I a Jew?” His answer is as follows:

I am a Jew because born of Israel and having lost it, I felt it revive within me more alive than I am myself.
I am a Jew because born of Israel, and having found it again, I would have it live after me even more alive than it is within me.
I am a Jew because the faith of Israel demands no abdication of my mind.
I am a Jew because the faith of Israel asks every possible sacrifice of my soul.
I am a Jew because in all places where there are tears and suffering the Jew weeps.
I am a Jew because in every age when the cry of despair is heard the Jew hopes.
I am a Jew because the message of Israel is the most ancient and the most modern.
I am a Jew because Israel’s promise is a universal promise.
I am a Jew because for Israel the world is not finished; men will complete it.
I am a Jew because for Israel man is not yet created; men are creating him.
I am a Jew because Israel places Man and his Unity above nations and above Israel itself.
I am a Jew because above Man, image of the Divine Unity, Israel places the unity which is divine.4

As we celebrate commitment to Judaism this Purim, and every day, may we be inspired and able to affirm our faith and our devotion to our spiritual nation, as Edmond Fleg felt so inspired to articulate in 1927. His words resonate today just as loud as they did when he penned them eighty-five years ago.

1 Edmond Fleg, Why I Am a Jew, trans. Louise Waterman Wise (New York: Bloch Publishing, 1929), xiii.
2 Ibid., 63.
3 Otto Weininger, Sex and Character (New York: G.P. Putnam, 1906), 303. Accessed from Cornell Online Library by HTzE, 6 March 2012.
4 Fleg, 93-95.

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A Prayer for Beginning an Endeavor

וְעָל כֵּן אֲנִי מִתְחַנֵּן לְשֵׁם שֶׁהוּא בָּֽעַל הַיְּכוֹלֶת הַגָּמוּר וְהָאֱמֶת הַגָּמוּר שְׁיִתֵּן לִי עֹז וְתַעֲצוּמוֹת לְהַשְׁלִים כַּוָּנָתִי וְיַנָחֵנִי בְּדֶרֶךְ אֶמֶת וִילָמְדֵנִי ארָחוֹת יוֹשֵׁר, כִּי בוֹ בַטָחְתִי וְאֵלָיו קִוִּיתִי, כְּמָאֲמַר הַמְּשׁוֹרֵר, “הַדְרִיכֵנִי בַֽאֲמִתֶּךָ ׀ וְלַמְּדֵנִי כִּי־אַתָּה אֱלֹהֵי יִשְׁעִי אוֹתְךָ קִוִּיתִי כָּל־הַיּֽוֹם: וְזֶה הֶחֱלִי בְּעֶזְרַת שָׁדַּי:

Therefore I pray to God who has absolute power and truth that He may grant me courage and strength to accomplish my purpose, that He may lead me in the way of truth, and teach me the paths of uprightness, for in Him I trust and for Him I wait, as the Psalmist says (Psalms 25:5): “Guide me in Your truth, and teach me; for You are the God of my salvation; for You I wait all day.” Now I begin with the help of the Almighty.

This t’filah is an excerpt from Ikkarim: Book of Principles, a four-volume beautiful theological statement and explication of Torah by Joseph Albo, completed in 1454. Albo closes the preamble to his work with this prayer.

What a beautiful sentiment with which to begin a journey.

What a great take on twenty-somethings. And SO TRUE. Oy.

Doctor Quack's avatarDoctor Quack

When I turned twenty, I was under the impression that life was going to be a party for the next ten years. I was sorely mistaken. You see… I was warned about a couple things: my metabolism will decrease, I’ll get fatter, academic work will get harder, I’ll have to pay taxes; but there are a lot of things no one warned me about.

So I have written this list, projecting my personal experiences onto my fellow twenty-something friends and colleagues who are themselves possibly struggling with the same things I struggle with in this deeply confusing decade we call our twenties.

1. Twenties are the new teens.

People in their thirties often tell me that the thirties are the new twenties, so what does that make us? Well, unfortunately, as if we didn’t already suffer enough in the confusing and disorienting teenage years, we have to do it all…

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Blindness and Darkness

“Dottor Marcuccio, who was also blind as a result of an accident, […] had explained to her that darkness was a visual sensation and therefore a prerogative of those who have the gift of sight. ‘The blind […] cannot see the darkness, just as the deaf cannot hear silence, which is an auditory sensation, the antithesis of sound; that’s all there is to it.’”

Andrea Bocelli, The Music of Silence, trans. Consuelo Bixio Hackney (Milwaukee, WI: Amadeus Press, 2011), p.61.