By Hazzan Jenna Greenberg.
Tonight, we will belatedly celebrate the festive holiday of Lag Ba’Omer, as Beth El holds its Annual Event with our guest of honor, Michael Rapaport, Award-winning Jewish actor, comedian, and pro-Israel advocate. We will come together as a community two days after this holiday, as we take a break from the semi-mourning period that we are in during these 49 days between Pesach and Shavuot. But what is Lag Ba’Omer anyway?
The backstory in short is that Rabbi Akiva had 24,000 students who all died shortly after Pesach because they did not treat each other with respect. The plague that killed them stopped on the 33rd day of the Omer. Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai was one of the five remaining students of Rabbi Akiva, and on the day he died, prior to his death he taught his students some of the great secrets of the Torah.
Therefore, today is Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai’s yahrzeit, the anniversary of his death. Yahrzeits are days with mixed emotions, sadness over the death of the individual, but happiness as we recall memories and lessons learned from those whose lives we honor. In this case, we can look back to Rabbi Akiva, Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai’s teacher, from whom we learned the importance of respecting others.
And we can look to our weekly double Torah portion, Behar-Bechukotai, as well, for the lesson of respecting not only others, but God as well. Bechukotai contains the first of two sets of curses in the Torah, also known as the Tochecha, verses of rebuke and warning from God to B’nai Yisrael. This theme of divine reward and punishment for following or not following God’s commandments is a recurring theme throughout our Torah, and even makes its way into the second paragraph of the Shema in our twice daily liturgy.
Yet despite this litany of dire warnings, God will not utterly reject Israel, as God vows to remember the covenant made with Israel’s ancestors. This comes back to the theme of respecting one another. And this is the triangular relationship between ourselves, others and God: self respect, respecting the Divine, and respect of others. In Hebrew, the word for respect is Kavod, but it is rooted in love, Ahava, “a whole lotta love,” as we say these words in Hebrew every evening, Ahavat Olam, and every morning, Ahava Raba.
Love and respect of self, of others and of God are the lesson we can take from the confluence of Lag Ba’Omer and Bechukotai this week, turning these values into action each and every day of our lives.
By Hazzan Jacob Sandler.
By Rabbi Alex Freedman.
One of the singularly priceless Jewish contributions to the world is a Torah verse we read this week from Kedoshim: “Love your fellow as yourself; I am Hashem” (Lv. 19:18). If that were the only value the larger world has learned from us, Dayeinu.
This instruction is appropriate for even the smallest children; treat other children the way you want them to treat you. That is, if you want your friends to share their toys and snacks with you, it’s best for you to offer them as well.
And the Mitzvah speaks to adults on an entirely different plane. In addition to weighing in on our actions towards others, this verse directs us to guide even our judgments of others. Here’s the Etz Hayyim Humash commentary: “Love your neighbor because he or she is like yourself, subject to the same temptations that you are. Just as we excuse our own behavior by seeing it in context, claiming that we were tired, angry, and misinformed and, therefore, guilty of nothing worse than poor judgment, we should be prepared to judge the behavior of others as charitably.”
The Torah never tells us to never judge another person’s actions or motivations. Indeed, it’s human nature to do just that. But the Torah here urges us to do so charitably. Obviously, if a negative motivation clearly fuels a person’s harmful action, we shouldn’t look the other way or ignore what is clear. But much of the time motivations are hazy, and we can either give the other person the benefit of the doubt or withhold it. We have a choice. The Torah here reminds us that others are just like us.
We all know that we are not at our best when we did not sleep well the night before, have not eaten lunch yet, or we are caring for a sick family member. We forgive ourselves (as we should) because we know we are trying our best. This is what the Torah wants us to consider when we judge the actions of our friends, family members, and even strangers we interact with. Judge others with compassion and understanding, for that is how we wish others would consider our own actions.
Simple to explain, yet challenging to put into practice. Even the very thoughts we have toward others have the potential to lead us toward holiness and society to a better place.
By Hazzan Jenna Greenberg.
אֲדֹנָי שְׂפָתַי תִּפְתָּח וּפִי יַגִּיד תְּהִלָּתֶֽךָ
Hashem s’fatai tiftach, ufi yagid t’hilatecha.
God, open my lips, that my mouth may declare Your praise.
We say these words prior to every Amida, the standing prayer central to each of our three daily services. These words preface the age-old words of this prayer, setting our mouths and our minds with the kavana, the intention, to praise God through the holy words that come out of our mouths in these ritual moments.
This liturgical one-liner focuses on a theme that comes from this week’s double Torah portion, Tazria-Metzora. But let’s rewind for a moment to last week’s parasha Shemini, where we learned about which animals are kosher and which are not. What we put into our mouths matters; there are rules as to what one should put into their bodies for sustenance; and these biblical laws are ancient, elevating the otherwise mundane act of eating to a holy status.
And then we have Tazria and Metzora as the subsequent parshiyot this Shabbat, often paired together in a non-leap year like this one. Whereas last week’s focus was on what goes into our bodies, this week’s portions deal with what comes out of our bodies. We learn about various physical afflictions or ailments due to bodily fluids that affected our ancestors’ purity.
What comes out of our bodies also matters. Tazria literally means “she conceives,” from the root zera, meaning “seed.” The parsha continues to describe the purity rules for a woman who has given birth, including the timeline for when she can return to the community and bring an offering to God. The portion continues on with the theme of Tzara’at, a biblical skin disease, often understood as leprosy, again with rulings on the isolation and separation of one who has this affliction. The transition from impure to a pure status is the focus in both cases.
Parashat Metzora, the second of this double parsha, details the purification rituals for a metzora, a person afflicted with tzara’at—a skin disease that is understood to be not only physical but spiritual as well.
Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks z”l shared the the following ancient teaching on this disease: Tsara’at, the skin condition whose diagnosis and purification form the heart of these parshiyot, was a punishment for lashon hara, evil speech, and the word metzora, for one suffering from the condition, was, they said, an abridgment of the phrase motzi shem ra, one who speaks slander. The key prooftext they brought was the case of Miriam who spoke badly about Moses, and was struck with tsara’at as a result (Num. 12). Moses alludes to this incident many years later, urging the Israelites to take it to heart: “Remember what the Lord your God did to Miriam along the way after you came out of Egypt.” (Deut. 24:9)
I find this teaching to be particularly fitting during this week in which we observed Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Memorial Day, a modern commemoration that only sometimes coincides with these Torah portions. What comes out of our mouths is ultimately a controllable action, as are other ways in which we use our bodies in our interactions with others. We remember what bigotry and hatred of the utmost extreme, both verbally and physically, was done to 6 million members of our Jewish family during the Holocaust. May we Never Again experience such anti-semitism, such evil against our people.
What began with evil thoughts and words became the world’s worst genocide of Jews throughout history. Metzora, Motzi Shem Ra, it all started with evil speech and developed into an atrocity that is truly unimaginable. And yet, here we are today 93 years since the Shoah began. Our people live on because we won’t let evil speech win. We strive to do our best to use our mouths for good, not evil.
May the teachings from our double Torah portion as well as the lessons learned through our observances of Yom haHashoah continue to inspire us to think before we speak. Let only kindness emanate from our lips, as we are reminded ritually three times each and every day of the year: God, open my lips, that my mouth may declare Your praise.
By Rabbi Michael Schwab.
I don’t know about you, but each year thinking about my upcoming Passover Seder unfailingly sends me into the world of nostalgia. Years of Sedarim cycle through my head. Precious memories of times spent with family members, some of whom who are no longer alive and some of whom who are no longer part of my Seder because of distance and life circumstance, suddenly become tangible and vivid. I can smell the food, hear the laughter and feel the warmth. Through the experience of these memories I re-connect with my own past, with my treasured relationships, with my personal family history and with my Jewish heritage, all at once, in an emotionally compelling way. During those moments of remembering I understand that all those years of experiencing Passover Sedarim in such a way have created a powerful and positive legacy that naturally creates joyful anticipation in advance of the holiday each and every year.
While many of us complain about the lack of bread and the poor taste of matzah (although there are some who love it!?), the reality is that this is one of the most meaningful and most celebrated holidays on the Jewish calendar. Much of that, I believe, stems from the powerful entwinement of our personal memories with the collective memory of our people. This is a holiday, which perhaps like no other, actively builds Jewish identity and connects us as individuals to the on-going story of the Jewish people. “I” becomes “We”. Our family customs become intertwined with the ancient customs of our ancestors. Our present intermingles with our past – creating a new future. The Passover Seder, in many ways, acts as our Jewish compass helping us to better understand who we are and, therefore, guiding us to where we need to go.
So please, wax nostalgic in advance of the Passover holiday, remember what made your Sedarim of the past so meaningful and help create memories that will sustain you and the participants at your table well into the future. And if you don’t have nostalgia for past Passovers, there is no time like the present to create an experience worthy of such memories! Therefore, I wish you all a meaningful Passover filled with memorable moments, which help each person connect in a lasting way with our beautiful tradition! Hag Sameah – Have a happy Passover holiday!
By Rabbi Alex Freedman.
We can’t tell the Passover story without Moses. As we mention him at the Seder next week, let’s pay attention to a literary motif that frames his life at pivotal moments literally from his beginning to end: water.
Water frames Moses’ life at seven pivotal moments:
1. Moses is born and placed in a wicker basket to float on the Nile River because Pharaoh declared that Israelite boys were to be drowned.
2. Moses runs away from Egypt to Midian, where he goes to a well and intercedes to protect strangers.
3. Moses returns to Egypt, confronts Pharaoh, and activates the Ten Plagues, which commence with turning the Nile River into blood.
4. Moses liberates the Israelites by splitting the Red Sea.
5. Moses leads the Israelites to receive the Torah at Mt. Sinai, where he went 40 days without eating or drinking water; the Torah is later compared to water as both provide essential nourishment.
6. Moses, angered by the Israelites’ complaints for lack of water, hits the rock twice instead of speaking to it to procure water.
7. Moses ascends Mt. Nebo before dying, where he is able to see the Promised Land in its splendor; sadly he cannot cross over the metaphoric finish line, the Jordan River.
Consider all the different things water did for Moses: it protected him; validated his commitment to social justice; cemented his authority as a leader to Pharaoh and the Israelites; liberated his people physically from Egypt and spiritually at Sinai; caused his downfall as a leader; and marked his failure to enter Canaan.
Water was there at every crucial moment.
Water has reflective properties. When we look into a pond we see through the water, while we also see our reflection. Perhaps the Torah places water here to prompt us to reflect on Moses as a character. When we examine him at these different moments, we find that he grows over time and matures as a leader. For example, the man who tells G-d “I am not a man of words” is the same man who speaks the entire Book of Deuteronomy! (Exodus 4:10).
But one thing never changed until near the end. Moses always reflected the will of G-d. His mission wasn’t ever about himself, but his people and his G-d.
Like a mirror, water reflects an image back at us.
When you take Moses’ Hebrew name and refract it, as if it’s held over water, Mem Shin Hay becomes Hay Shin Mem. משה becomes השם. Moses and G-d are two halves of a whole. One was an extension of the Other, so much so this was encoded into his name.
Like Moses, each of us grows and matures over time. As water does for Moses, certain touchpoints for us can highlight this. Maybe it’s celebrating birthdays or returning to a favorite vacation spot. Perhaps it’s Jewish holidays that offer us a chance to reflect and check in. It’s important to look in the mirror and say “Last year I was there, but this year I’m here.”
As we embark on this regular self-reflection – and the Seder provides another good opportunity – let Moses inspire us to make our own missions for the year ahead not just about ourselves, but our people and G-d too.
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!
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:
“Moses then convoked the whole Israelite community and said to them:
These are the things that GOD has commanded you to do:
On six days work may be done, but on the seventh day you shall have a sabbath of complete rest, holy to GOD; whoever does any work on it shall be put to death.
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.
In all candor, it has felt pretty nonstop here at Beth El since my last big vacation in the winter. Since January, we have had 7 b’nai mitzvah, youth shabbat, Shabbat Shira, the beginning of the B’nai Mitzvah Date assignment process, Purim with its megillah, videos, seudah and spiels, and of course this weekend with Rinat and the concert. And those are just the big items in my immediate purview. To look ahead at Passover, Yom HaShoah, Yom Hazikaron and Yom Ha’atzma’ut, all the end of the school year festivities, and our big annual event — let’s just say, it can be easy to get overwhelmed.
I think each of us can get caught in the trap of feeling like all our responsibilities are paramount. And in fairness, tending to our relationships, doing our job, balancing our budgets, keeping our spaces in order, volunteering, and all the other errands we do are important! I’m told it’s called “adulting” and it’s quite the balancing act. But Hashem gave us the gift of Shabbat to insist that we take time to rest. I’d extend that to say, we all need to carve out some time for self-care. In fact, Shabbat reminds us that God rested after six days of creation. If God was deserving of rest after creating the entire universe, surely we humans would need to. It should be intuitive that rest and self-care are key ingredients in any task worth doing.
But the Torah is there to remind us of these truths precisely because they’re not as intuitive as one might hope. So, whatever your self-care practices are (e.g. a workout, a TV show, a shower, a nap), do be sure to remember that you are a priority. The Torah says, those who do work on Shabbat will surely die. I know enough people who aren’t shomer Shabbat and still alive to know that can’t be taken literally. But, I do think it’s a warning of the natural consequences. If we don’t prioritize our rest and self-care, we will surely experience burnout. In the words of Billy Joel, “Do what’s good for you, or you’re no good for anybody.” The work will always be there, and if we prioritize self-care in the balancing act, we’ll be here a good long time to get it all done.
Shabbat Shalom and see you Sunday!
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.
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