Our Clergy’s Thursday Thoughts

New Beginnings

By Hazzan Jenna Greenberg.

Today is Rosh Chodesh Nisan and we begin the two-week countdown to Pesach. It is also the week in which we begin reading the third book of the Torah whose first parsha shares the name of this book, Vayikra. Also known as Torat haKohanim, this central book of the Torah discusses the various and sundry rituals around our ancestral form of prayer: offering gifts to God, korbanot, sacrifices to be offered on the Mishkan’s altar.

We begin anew with a new month, the month that biblically represented the beginning of all months, the beginning of the year.  We begin a new book of the Torah, after just having completed Sefer Shemot, the second book of the Torah which recounted Moshe’s rise to leadership of B’nai Yisrael, the Jewish people, the story of our Exodus from Egypt to the culmination of our people’s wanderings with the gift of Torah at Har Sinai. Shifting gears, the second half of Shemot then gave us the blueprints for and the creation of the Mishkan whose altar finally gets put to use for the first time in Vayikra.

This theme of new beginnings is a beautiful confluence when Nisan and Vayikra coincide. 

While Vayikra is the third book of the Torah, when a Jewish child begins learning Torah, traditionally they do not begin at Breishit, the beginning of the Torah. Rather they start here, with Vayikra. They do so because of the Midrashic principle: “Let the pure ones (children) come and engage in the pure ones (sacrifices/korbanot)“. Vayikra deals with Temple offerings, focusing on purity, holiness, and developing a close relationship with God, making it an ideal starting point to teach these essential and foundational Jewish values.

This connects back to Nisan as we now enter our period of intense preparations for Pesach, both physically and spiritually. And how do the children prepare for this holiday? Through questions, through curiosity which is nurtured throughout the Seder, throughout the entire holiday. 

The Seder is a night of questions after all. The Four Questions are only a springboard for further questioning. And when addressing the child who does not know how to ask,  she’eino yode’a lishol, about the story of the Exodus, the Haggadah tells us: “At P’tach Lo,” you open up for him. As the Hadar Team shares in their opening page of their 5786 Pesach reader: “These [three] simple words teach us that when we share our story, we open up for each other, creating a relational bond…binding us in relationship with our people and with God.”

We are all a combination of the Four Children from the Haggadah, where sometimes, even as adults, we may feel like the child who does not know how to ask, she’eino yode’a lishol. But we can all reset, at any age, at any Rosh Chodesh, anytime we begin a new book of the Torah. Sometimes, especially in this crazy world in which we live, we don’t always have the words to ask the questions that are not on the tip of our tongues. We depend on others to help us find the right words. And this is what helps to bind us in our interactions with others and with God. 

May the new month of Nisan bring new perspectives to our Pesach experiences this year. As we begin the book of Vayika, may we be inspired by its themes of purity, holiness, and deepening our relationship with God.

Chodesh Tov and Chag Pesach Sameach!

Get Some Rest – Self-care is Important

By Hazzan Jacob Sandler.

Today I’m looking forward to a very full weekend. Friday night we have Rinat Shabbat and Sunday at 4pm is the “Hazzan Sandler & Friends: Celebrating 5 Years” concert. So much opportunity to be together in prayer and song. And in between, we have Shabbat.

Our parasha begins:

Moshe “Communifies” the whole community to remind them of the importance of Shabbat — especially when it comes to building the Mishkan, which they’re about to do! One might think that a task so holy as building a space for us to connect with God would supersede our need for rest. That is a human impulse. But God knows that there is no task so holy or important that we should forfeit the gift of rest. The only exception, of course, is saving a life which is indeed more important than individual or communal rest.

Ki Tisa 5786 The Fast Before the Feast: Purim Thoughts About Iran Today

By Rabbi Alex Freedman.

For those of us who love Israel, watching the news updates about Iran raises lots of conflicting emotions: relief that Israel is certainly safer with the elimination of Iran’s nuclear-ambitious leadership; worry that Iran’s response will kill even more Israelis (who are taking cover in bomb shelters as we speak), American soldiers stationed in the region, and innocent civilians everywhere, including ordinary Iranians; hope that Israel can be safer in the very long term by not having to worry about Iran as a nuclear power with genocidal ambitions; and concern that this military operation – for all its stunning success – ultimately gives way to a new leadership with the same goals and nuclear capabilities.

It’s a lot for one person to deal with, let alone a community. 

I am reminded of the dangerous moments in the Purim story, which we just read on Monday night and Tuesday morning, about a different enemy of the Jews in the very same land. When we settle into our seats to hear Megillat Esther chanted, we do so knowing that the story ends up working out well for the Jews – that our people are ultimately saved and delivered. But if you were Jewish living in the time of Mordecai and Esther, it was a very different experience. Until the very end, the community expected the enemy to try to destroy it on the 13th of Adar. Until Esther approached the king – in defiance of the law as she had not been summoned – she did not know if he would change his mind and stop Haman’s genocide. This is why the Fast of Esther, which is held the day before Purim, remains compelling to me. It reminds me that the moment was indeed fraught with danger, the outcome far from clear. Without it, it’s easy today to slide into thinking that the entire Purim story was one big party. 

My hope is that just as the Jews of Shushan altered their fate permanently – by ensuring their safety and survival – we are living in a similar moment when Israel and the Jews will be safer for the long term. 

As we watch this critical moment from afar, let’s remember to reach out to the Israelis we know. From their bomb shelters, these friends and families of ours will doubtlessly appreciate us thinking about them during this difficult time. We have the capacity to share strength with them now, so we should. 

The Eternal Flame is Still Burning

By Hazzan Jenna Greenberg.

In the very first verse of Parashat Tetzave, God commands that a lamp, filled with oil, burn all night in the Mishkan, the Tabernacle or portable sanctuary that our ancestors built in last week’s Torah portion. Aaron is commanded to have the Israelites bring clear, beaten olive oil for the Ner Tamid,  the eternal flame, a lamp that was to be kept burning “continually” or “regularly,” from evening until morning in the Mishkan. This is the origin of the Ner Tamid, the light that every Aron haKodesh, Holy Ark, has above it. This is one of many symbols identifying the modern synagogue as a miniature sanctuary, a mikdash m’at.

Simultaneously, while this external reminder of God’s enduring presence burns, each and every one of us has an internal spark as well, as we are all created B’tzelem Elohim, in God’s Image. God does not only dwell in the holy spaces around us, but within each of us burns a divine light. The eternal flame both within us and around us are the internal and external reminders of holiness. We each have the potential to add light to this world, an oftentimes challenging world that can feel quite dark at times.

This theme of holy eternal light from our weekly parasha coincides with Shabbat Zachor in a non-leap year, like this one, in other words, the majority of the time. It seems only fitting that on this Shabbat before Purim, when we focus on the past enemies, from Amalek to Haman, we are commanded to remember the darkness, to not forget those who have historically attempted to extinguish our light as a people. Rather, the light both within us and around us has always prevailed, even if it has flickered during difficult stages in our lives, both individually and as a community.

Just as our synagogue is a mikdash m’at, a holy space where Jews gather as a community to experience the divine in the company of others, so too are our bodies holy vessels housing the divine spark within each of us. We all have the potential to experience the divine both within us and around us, the eternal flame that ignites us to blot out evil, ultimately increasing the light and holiness in our world.

Where G-d Dwells Among Us

By Hazzan Jacob Sandler.

This week’s parasha, Terumah, is the beginning of a very special building project – the construction of the Mishkan – the Tabernacle. 

The Torah states:

דַּבֵּר֙ אֶל־בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל וְיִקְחוּ־לִ֖י תְּרוּמָ֑ה מֵאֵ֤ת כׇּל־אִישׁ֙ אֲשֶׁ֣ר יִדְּבֶ֣נּוּ לִבּ֔וֹ תִּקְח֖וּ אֶת־תְּרוּמָתִֽי׃

“God spoke to Moses, saying: ‘Tell the Israelite people to bring Me gifts; you shall accept gifts for Me from every person whose heart is so moved.’”

And let them make Me a sanctuary that I may dwell among them.

The Mishkan literally means a ‘dwelling place.’ And the hope is that God will dwell not in the physical space but “among them” – AKA the Israelites themselves. When we create spaces for communal ritual and gathering, we invite God’s presence to dwell within each of us.

I had the privilege of attending Song Leader Boot Camp (SLBC) International Conference in St. Louis, MO earlier this week alongside about 20 Beth El members. Among them were middle schoolers, Teens (public school and day school), adults, staff, teachers and laypeople. We learned about the techniques, tools and best practices we can use to build sacred spaces — not just with brick and mortar, but with song, prayer, text, and, most importantly, people. We got a chance to be deeply inspired and connect with Jewish leaders of all ages from across the country and beyond. What we built there was beautiful in and of itself. But what we hope to bring back is a renewed sense of purpose and intention as we continue to contribute to Beth El’s musical, educational and ritual programming.

Mishpatim – Why So Many Rules?

By Rabbi Freedman.

Hollywood will never produce a movie about Parashat Mishpatim. The big screens may feature all of Genesis and the first half of Exodus, as these parts of the Torah pulsate with timeless tales. But all that crashes to a halt with Mishpatim, which introduces laws – lots more laws. Indeed, the rest of the Torah is devoted more to laws than narrative.

Why does Judaism have so many rules anyway?

The best answer I’ve read comes from Rabbi Daniel Gordis’ book Becoming a Jewish Parent. While he is now known primarily as a writer and thinker about Israel, he was first a rabbi writing about Jewish life writ large. Geared for new parents who want to create a vibrant Jewish home, he writes a full chapter about our relationship with Judaism’s rules and Mitzvot.

Gordis writes: “So why the rules? Because ultimately the rules show that we’re serious. If we tell our kids not to hit other kids, but we don’t enforce it, we let them know that we really don’t care. The point is simple: What’s important has rules…The same with our Jewish lives. If we want to create a tradition of everyone being home for a Friday night Shabbat dinner together, then that’s the rule…If we’re serious about standards in Jewish life, then Jewish life has to have rules…It’s the regularity of the practice that makes it serious. And it’s seriousness that will ultimately communicate that we want this to be part of their core selves. Rules create regularity.”

I will add that rules, or Mitzvot, animate values. Just like muscles need to be strengthened by exercise, values need to be activated by habits. Values are determined by actions, not thoughts. For example, if one thinks going to the gym is one of her values but she never actually goes, then she doesn’t really value it. 

The same is true with Tzedakah. The more and/or more frequently one gives Tzedakah, the more she values it. A person who tells herself she’ll give when she feels like it may or may not give. But a family with a rule where the children must give a portion of their allowance to Tzedakah; a family with a rule where one night of Hanukah the children forego their gifts and donate to others instead; a family with a rule where the adults donate 10% of their income to Tzedakah in the Mitzvah of Maaser Kesafim – this family will give charitably, this family will truly value Tzedakah. Habits create values. And rules create habits.

Of course rules are hard. Kids and adults find rules difficult. And parents find enforcing rules challenging. But a firm commitment creates a structure within which values are identifiable and practicable. 

This week we read of the Israelites’ unwavering commitment to the rules of the Torah. They said, “Naase VNishma! – We will surely obey!” (Ex. 24:7). In the end, their commitment did waver, as people are people and are thus fallible. But their embrace of these rules opened them up to a life filled with meaning, traditions, and values. So may it be with us.

Using the Past to Guide Us Toward A Brighter Future

By Rabbi Michael Schwab.

Just last week our Torah reading cycle celebrated the Exodus and the Israelites’ miraculous crossing of the sea — once and for all leaving the slavery of Egypt behind.  It was a glorious moment and the Torah relates that our people, led by Miriam, danced and sang in great joy. In a parallel fashion, this past week we marked the return of the last hostage, Ran Givili. Now there are no hostages left in Gaza for the first time since 2014.  This momentous occasion was a cause for tears of joy shed by Jews around the world and it allowed our people to take a deep exhale.  

And while it is critical to soak in moments of joy, success and relief, our Torah portion this morning reminds us that time always moves forward. The Israelites had to stop their dancing and singing and head towards Mt. Sinai. There, in a moment of great awe and seriousness they experienced revelation and were given the gift of the Torah. This was also an incredible moment.  However there was a deep gravity to this moment of creating a covenant with Gd and taking on the obligations of the commandments.  Liberation led to aspiration and obligation. This chain of events set our people on the course to becoming who we are today.

Now that the active war in Gaza has wound down and the last hostage has returned, our people must also move forward to the next chapter.  What lies ahead is serious and heavy.  Yet, like our ancestors we can use what came before to help lead us to greater heights in the future. Like Moses, we must be wise, optimistic and steadfast.  We must be guided by our relationship with Gd and the values embedded in our tradition.  And we must know that there is wilderness ahead but that we will once again arrive at our generation’s version of the Promised Land. If we keep alive Jewish hope and steer by the compass of our Torah we can go from strength to strength. 

“Finally Home”

By Hazzan Jenna Greenberg.

In Parashat Beshallach, the Pesach story picks up from last week’s episode, where Pharoah, after 10 plagues, finally agrees to let B’nai Israel go free. The Israelites gather what they can, escaping from enslavement under the Pharaoh’s regime. In the climatic cinematic moment, Moshe, with God’s help, splits the Sea of Reeds into two walls of water, allowing an escape route for all of B’nai Israel to finally return home.

This biblical miracle of freedom for our people is so essential that this scene is not only read this week, but we recite these words from Shirat haYam, the Song of the Sea, every morning of the year. This biblical, historic and miraculous moment is referenced every day because had our ancestors not been freed, we would not be here to tell this story every year, over and over again at our Pesach Seders. We would not be here to celebrate Shabbat and every other holiday. Our freedom is essential to our people’s story, to our very existence.

Of all the weeks in the year, how incredibly beshert (meant to be) it is that the last remaining hostage, Ran Gvili z”l, was found and brought home to Israel during the very same week in which we read this Torah portion. 843 days in captivity felt as long, if not longer, than the 400 years that our ancestors were slaves in Egypt, especially to the Gvili family. And even one of our own staff members at Beth El has a personal connection to the Gvili’s, as Jane Adler’s family hosted Shaked, a cousin of Ran’s, this past summer. This hits home for her, for our entire Beth El community and for Jews around the world, as we have been a people in crisis since Simchat Torah of 5784.

We will mark this moment ritually on our bima this Shabbat. The absence of the yellow chair, which represented the hostages taken by Hamas on October 7th, 2023, will raise many emotions in those attending services: relief that they are all home; sadness this ever happened; hope that we can move forward as a people; gratitude to have closure.

Mitzrayim (Egypt) is a word derived from the root Tzar, meaning narrow place. We have all been constricted as a people since October 7th, but especially those who were literally captured, tortured, and killed have never felt such suffering until the Hamas attack.

In our parasha, prior to the final escape of our ancestors, Amalek, depicted as the quintessential enemy of the Israelites, attacked them after their Exodus from Egypt. And yet they still made it out to become B’nai Chorin, a free people, who returned back to Cana’an, later to be known as Israel, the home to all Jews around the world to this day. They also finally came home.

As we continue to mourn the tragic losses of so many over the past 843 days, Am Yisrael, the entire Jewish family, can also breathe a sigh of relief, albeit a muted celebration, that no hostages remain in Gaza. For the first time in two and half years, we can have closure on this horrific chapter in Israel’s history, in our people’s history. We have finally all made it out of the narrow place, and will hopefully never experience such trauma again. 

They are all finally home.

Passover in January: A Look at the Four Children

By Hazzan Jacob Sandler.

While working with this week’s Bar Mitzvah boy, I kept getting excited by familiar verses in his Torah readings, pausing to ask if he recognized them. Of course, like many – including my own family – they do their seder in mostly English, so he didn’t right away. But when I translated them, and showed my student the Haggadah, he agreed that it’s pretty cool that the seder quotes his Bar Mitzvah portion!

Where? None other than the Four Children. The wise, the so-called wicked, the simple, and the one who doesn’t even know how to ask a question. They each have their chance to ask their question, and they each get an answer. Most of the questions and answers are from Parashat Bo.

According to the haggadah, the wise child asks, [and I’m paraphrasing], “What’s with all these rules and laws?” This is the question that comes later in the book of Deuteronomy. The answer? You should teach them all the laws of Passover, down to the Afikomen.
The wicked child has an attitude, and asks (again paraphrasing), “What’s it to you?” And the Rabbis highlight the word ‘to you’ and suggest that he excludes himself and therefore would not have been redeemed had he been there. To him we say “It is because of what Hashem did for me when I came out of Egypt” (Ex. 13:8 – parashat Bo).

The simple one simply asks, “What is this?” To that one, we respond, “With a mighty hand, Hashem brought us out of Egypt, out of the house of bondage.” (Ex. 13:14 – parashat Bo)

Ironically, the one who can’t even ask a question gets the same quote as the Wicked child. But this time, it is not to emphasize the ‘me’ but to model that we should each see ourselves as having left Egypt personally.

This section of the haggadah is based primarily on the Jerusalem Talmud (as opposed to Babylonian Talmud which is a bit more familiar to most). But the Talmud version and the haggadah version have some discrepancies. 

For one, the simple one is referred to as “the stupid one” – which I’m glad was changed. As an educator I know that one should not be labelled in such a way, as we all have different kinds of intelligences, and not one of us can be reduced to just “stupid.” That’s a lesson in and of itself.

The other discrepancy I want to share is that the answers given to Wise and the Simple are flipped from the Talmud to the Haggadah. Why might that be?

To the simple child, who asks “What is this?” we begin with the laws and rules of Passover. Because sometimes, before we can fully grasp why we do something, we must be sure we understand how to do something. Na’aseh v’nishma – we will do and then understand. This is how we teach tefillot in the religious school – first we learn how to sing the prayers, then as they get better at reading we read them as we sing, and as they get older we dive deeper into the meaning and personal connection to those words. Of course we mix it all in at different levels, but we want them to have the practical skill and that often comes before the personal meaning.

And why do we answer the wise one with something so simple as “with a might hand…”? It is easy, when looking at the 4 labels to assume the Wise child is the ideal one. Who wouldn’t want to be the ‘wise’ if the other options are wicked, simple (or even stupid) or not knowing how to ask? But perhaps all the children have strengths and weaknesses. The wise one may agonize over the intellectual side of the rules, and completely miss out on the emotional depth available. To that one, we zoom out and show the bigger picture. 

Perhaps the haggadah includes all four children precisely so that we each get the answers we need to hear for the various aspects of ourselves. If we think ourselves wise we should be humble and recognize the wisdom of simple truths. If we think ourselves simple, we should stretch ourselves to embrace the details and scour them for meaning. If we find ourselves disengaging, we should be inspired by those who feel it so deeply and personally. And if we’re not sure how to ask, we should be grateful for others’ questions and answers. Eventually, ours will come too.

Were the 10 Plagues Natural or Supernatural?

By Rabbi Alex Freedman.

When we are young and first hear about the Ten Plagues, it’s the most incredible thing. We imagine these 10 divine miracles which preceded our people’s freedom in vivid color. When G-d broke the laws of nature to demonstrate His presence and power. It must have been like a Hollywood movie, we think; no wonder film directors have turned to it again and again. 

But as we get older, we are inevitably exposed to a different line of reasoning. One that explains these plagues as natural, not supernatural. As within the laws of nature, and not beyond. For example, here is our own Etz Hayyim Humash commentary explaining the first plague, turning the Nile to blood: 

“This plague has been explained as the intensification of a phenomenon that occurs periodically in the Nile valley. The river is fed by melting snow and summer rains that pour down from the highlands of Ethiopia and carry with them sediment from the tropical red earth of that region. And abnormally heavy rainfall would lead to an excessively high rise of the Nile and wash down into it inordinate amounts of the red sediment. Thus, the river, unable to absorb the substance as it would during a gradual rise of its waters, takes on a bloody hue.”

You get the idea. Each of the plagues can likewise be explained according to the rules of nature (although I’m not sure how academics explain the death of the firstborn). 

Doesn’t this second line of reasoning, which appeals to modern sensibilities, remove G-d from the picture? Put this way, they don’t sound like miracles at all! The plagues sound like a coincidence or a chance event. It sounds like G-d isn’t even there, which sort of defeats the whole purpose of the plagues. The whole takeaway for Egypt and Israel was that G-d was there and was on the side of freedom. Is there a way to resolve this tension, to harmonize G-d and the rules of nature? 

I believe there is, and it’s Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, of blessed memory, who says it best: 

“The plagues themselves occupy the borderline, so common to the Torah, between the natural and the supernatural. Commentators have been divided between those who emphasize their miraculous character and others who have sought to provide a scientific account of the disasters in terms of a series of chain reactions to an initial ecological disaster, possibly the appearance of algae in the Nile which turned the water red and caused the fish to die. Which view speaks more compellingly to us will depend on whether we understand by the word ‘miracle’ – a suspension of the laws of nature, or any event which occurs within nature, but by happening, when and to whom it does, reveals a providential pattern in history.”

He doesn’t pick a side here but explains that either take – the supernatural or the natural – reveal the hand of G-d. When a swarm of locusts makes its way across a plain and consumes everything on trees, that’s just nature at work. But when those locusts consume everything in the exact place and the exact time for the exact reason that G-d determines and Moses announces, that’s not a coincidence. That is G-d, the supernatural, using the laws of nature to prove that G-d is beyond nature. Even for those of us who are convinced that the Nile turning to blood was really just about the algae, to quote Fiddler on the Roof, that was a miracle too.