by Rabbi Alex Freedman
In honor of Israel’s 73rd birthday today, here are 7.3 reasons to feel renewed pride in our Jewish home. (I could do 73, but that would be a Thursday Thesis instead of a Thursday Thought!)
And .3 – Shtisel Season 3 – The third season of the hit TV show Shtisel was just released on Netflix! (This is a third of the series, which conveniently rounds to .3).
Israel is not perfect and has room to improve – much like Chicago and the US are imperfect too but we love them nonetheless. But on this day of Israel’s birthday, let’s make sure to celebrate all the blessings of our home in Eretz Yisrael.
by Rabbi Michael Schwab
Even before I understood why, I have always appreciated the quiet reflective moments that life sometimes offers me. For example, I look back with fondness on moments of waking up early while on vacation in the wilderness and sitting quietly watching the morning unfold with only the sounds of nature as my companions. I recall with great fulfillment the nighttime strolls with Erica on the deck of the cruise ship we took during our honeymoon, quietly experiencing the wonderful new reality of our marriage. I recollect many Shabbat afternoons sitting out on a lawn, or on a porch, thinking or just being, happy to experience simply being alive. Upon reflection I see that these moments represent opportunities to slow down, to raise our awareness, to increase our appreciation and to simply experience the joys of living.
Later in life I made the connection between the magic of moments such as these and the great spiritual offerings of our amazing Jewish tradition. To illustrate, our parsha this week gets its name from the word Shimini, or eighth. It is on the eighth day that the mishkan (holy tabernacle) is dedicated. It is also on the 8th day that we celebrate a bris. Why eight? The week is a seven day cycle and the holiest day is the 7th, Shabbat! However, the 8th is the day after the complete cycle. It is the day that represents the importance of how we reflect on, celebrate, and appreciate the fullness of what came before.
Symbolically it reminds us to take advantage of a number of powerful aspects of religious life. First there is prayer, a daily invitation to create an oasis in our day for reflection and contemplation. Second, holiday celebrations, which create a break in the regular cycle of the calendar and give us a chance to focus on aspects of life that we often fail to think about enough. And, third, there is the great gift of Shabbat, which, as Heschel taught, is the ultimate “palace in time” dedicated to appreciation, spirituality and raising awareness.
My prayer this week is that we all explore the power of Shmini and consider the many ways in which Judaism helps us to reflect on life and soak in the significance of life’s most important blessings.
by Hazzan Barbara Barnett
One my mentors had a favorite expression about counting that he would mention in celebration of birthdays. He liked to say, “spend less time counting the days and more time making each day count.”
Yet here we are counting. Yes, COVID cases—just as we have for the past many months.
But Sunday evening, the second night of Pesach, we began our annual count of 49 days, called Sefirat Ha’Omer, and ending with onset of Shavuot—from redemption from slavery to the gift of Torah. It’s not so much a countdown as a count-up, as we travel further and further from Mitzrayim and closer to Sinai, from slavery (and a slavery mentality) to freedom (with its joys and obligations).
Commanded to us in the Torah (in the Book of Leviticus—Vayikra), the omer count also can be viewed as an invitation beckoning us to embark on a seven-week journey into the human psyche, into the soul.
Jewish mystical practice encourages us to embark on this journey within the framework of human experience. Paralleing Jewish journey from the depths and despair of enslavement in Egypt when emotion is a luxury to Shavuot, when we experience God’s presence at Mount Sinai at the revelation of Torah.
This first week is focused on basic decency—loving kindess, in Hebrew, “Chesed.” I invite you to peek in our Shabbat Siddur Lev Shalem (page 63), to read a nice explanation of all the days and weeks of the omer.
For now, think about this week’s focus on lovingkindness and beautifully it’s expressed in words of Torah, “V’ahavta l’rayacha kamocha” – Love your neighbor as yourself, NSS Beth El’s theme of the year!
I will leave you with this evocative poem about this special season of making each day count:
The Season of Counting
This is the season of counting:
Of counting days and nights,
Of counting the space between slavery of the body
And freedom of the soul.
This is a season of seeing:
Of seeing earth and sky,
Of seeing renewal in the land
And renewal in our hearts.
This is a season of journey:
Of inner journeys and outer journeys
Taking us places that need us,
Places that we need.
This is the season of counting,
The season of joyous anticipation,
Of wondrous waiting, in devotion and awe,
For our most precious gift,
The gift that binds our hearts to each other across the millennia,
The gift that binds our souls to G-d’s Holy Word.
© 2017 CCAR Press from This Grateful Heart: Psalms and Prayers for a New Day
by Hazzan Ben Tisser
The liturgy of the Pesach seder includes the verse “V’nomar l’fanav shirah chadashah — we will sing before God a new song.” In translation, we should be very familiar with this phrase. It is presented in the command form “You shall sing…” twice in the Psalms of Kabbalat Shabbat, recited each Friday night. In the case of Pesach, however, we offer the verse as not a command from above, but as a promise of humanity.
So how do we do this? How do we take the Seder–a ritual prescribed as early as Mishnaic times, 2,000 years ago–and make it relevant? We have learned to include contemporary songs and readings, relating the ancient story of the Exodus to our times. This year will be no different, except that in many ways we will feel the impact of the story much more personally than perhaps ever in our lifetimes (for many of us). We can finally begin to see the end of the chaos this pandemic has created. We are experiencing the beginnings of freedom that the miracle of science has gifted us. In that way, dayeinu–it’s enough if we stop there! By relating our present situation to the Exodus from Egypt, we have more than fulfilled the commandment that each of us is to see ourselves as if we had actually left Egypt.
But there’s another dimension of the Seder which is so vitally important. That is the element of tradition. This is as much prescriptive as it is personal. There are those elements of ritual which have been part of the Pesach experience for thousands of years, and then there are those traditions which have developed over centuries and across different communities across the world. As a child, I recall adding several new elements to our Seder: a fourth matzah in solidarity with the Jews of the former Soviet Union; Miriam’s Cup filled with water, recalling how, by Miriam’s merit, God provided B’nei Yisrael with water in the desert; different types of Haroset as our family grew (but never without my Grandma Diana’s prune-based Haroset, strong and pasty enough to hold together the largest of pyramids!).
With just days to go until the Seder, and with this year still being very different for so many of us than we are accustomed to, why not add something new, meaningful, or even fun to the seder?! Here are some interesting and fun customs you might consider to enhance and add meaning to your own Seder:
Whatever you do, however or wherever you celebrate, I pray for all of us that next year we will reach “the promised land” and be able to celebrate the Festival as we truly desire! Robyn and the kids join me in wishing each of you and those you love a Zisn and Kosher Pesach — a sweet and Kosher Pesach!
by Hazzan Barbara Barnett
This week’s Torah potion is called Vayikra, and it begins the third book of the Torah The first word of Vayikra contains a scriptural anomaly. (Can you spot it?)
Something here a bit strange and unexpected and might make you think the scribe who created the Torah scroll erred with his quill pen. —an aleph. It is superscripted and quite tiny. The question is “why?” Speculating about the “why” has puzzled Biblical scholars for centuries.
The word “Vayikra” means “He called,” referring to G-d calling out to Moses. Often in the Torah, G-d “speaks” to Moses, He “says” to Moses. But here he “calls out.” But the aleph in Vayikra seems ambiguous. Is it meant to be there or is it an error of some sort? It may to some seem a trivial matter, but the presence or absence of that one letter vastly changes the meaning of the text.
Without the aleph, the word becomes vayikar—by chance—a chance encounter and not the definite “call” out to Moses from G-d. It’s tiny thing, but significant. Numerous scholars over the generations have commented and interpreted the meaning of this seeming scribal anomaly.
Rabbi Dr. Jonathan Sacks suggested that the “aleph” is written so small to emphasize that G-d calling out to us is not always done in the grand gestures and miracles like the splitting of Reed Sea or the sending the signs and wonders in the lead up to the Exodus, which we commemorate on Passover. Sometimes G-d’s presence nearby, calling out to us, abides in the quiet gestures of the day-to-day of our lives. That the small coincidences, the happenstances, so easy to dismiss, may indeed by G-d calling—not vayikar, but vayikra. Easy to miss, unless you attune yourself to the everyday miracles, signs and wonders, which help us draw near to G-d. As the korbanot, the offerings described in such detail in Vayikra are meant to accomplish, and the Hebrew word “korban” implies.
This sense of G-d’s presence signified by the difference between “vayikar” and “vayikra” calls to mind my favorite quotation from Albert Einstein, “Coincidence is G-d’s way of remaining anonymous.”
From our home to yours, Phil and I wish you a wonderful Pesach.
Print This Seder Supplement – Your Seder Conversation-Starter
Rabbi Alex Freedman
|Seder Participant Supplement – click on link to open and print||Seder Leader Supplement – click on link to open and print|
Here are four new Passover questions I have for you:
1. Has your Seder discussion gotten stuck?
2. How do you take this ancient story and refresh it for 2021?
3. How do you engage both kids and adults?
4. How do you interest both Seder rookies and veterans?
Leading the Seder conversation is a challenge. Let the Seder Supplement help you. (No, it’s not too early to think about as we are only about two weeks away!)
I prepared this updated handout to spark a table discussion. (A big thank you to Abby Lasky for the graphic design).
The Seder Supplement has two front-and-back pages. A few verses from the Torah tell the story of Shifra and Pua, two Egyptian heroines who defied Pharaoh’s orders and saved the Jewish baby boys from death in the Nile. Many of us didn’t learn about them when we heard the Passover story taught in Religious School. That’s a shame, for they were courageous role models. Who today models these values of courage and solidarity with all of humanity?
The second page includes different quotes about courage, inspired by Shifra and Pua. Selected from a range of personalities and historical figures, these quotes spur us to think about courage in a more sophisticated way. The Passover story highlights courageous acts by women and men, and our understanding of this inner strength should mature as we do. Our conversations should reflect this growth.
This first handout is for all the guests; print out a bunch for the table (or share the PDF with virtual guests) to start a conversation. Also print out one copy of the second handout for the Seder leader. This contains my insights on the Torah study, in order to dive a little deeper. It also includes a series of Seder trivia questions to keep things interesting throughout the night.
The Haggadah text itself is a conversation starter, but sometimes it needs to be unlocked. That’s what the Seder Supplement is intended to be. The word “Haggadah” itself means “Telling the story.” So does the Hebrew word “Maggid,” the longest section of the Seder. The Torah tells us “You shall tell your child on that day [of a future Passover holiday], ‘It is because of what G-d did for me when I left Egypt’” (Ex. 13:8). The challenge – and ultimate satisfaction – is to create an experience and conversation that makes it feel as if we ourselves taste both slavery and freedom. So we’ve got to talk about it. The conversation itself is the experience of renewed liberation. After all, only free people can speak freely.
If you’re hosting, feel free to make copies for your guests (in-person and virtual) and adapt to your needs. The hardest part is starting a meaningful conversation. Once it begins, however, it’s as sweet as Haroset.
No Seder leader can control what the guests will say and who will participate. But every Seder leader can prepare for success by organizing in advance questions, stories, songs, games, and topics for discussion.
This Passover, let’s liberate the conversation too.
Inspiring Stories of Heroic Compassion
by Rabbi Michael Schwab
“Each person shall give . . . .” (Exodus 30:12)
Two weeks ago Texas was hit with a major winter storm that brought with it uncharacteristic freezing temperatures. As a result, much of Texas was thrust into an emergency situation: thousands without power or water, plus many families who were initially stranded on roads or isolated in homes. The damage was so widespread that local authorities and services were simply overwhelmed and were not capable of helping all who needed assistance.
However, help arrived anyway, due to the kindness and generosity of private citizens and NGOs that took to heart the obligation of giving of themselves to others. Following the opening command in our Torah portion this week that each person, each soul, needs to give something of themselves to the community, individuals stepped up to rescue stranded citizens, fix broken water pipes to restore water and help save the lives of those who were in distress.
For example, as People Magazine reported, when plumber Andrew Mitchell heard of all that was needed, he and his wife, Kisha Pinnock, packed $2,000 worth of materials and drove nearly two days from their home in New Jersey to Texas, to help in the efforts. For the trip, the two also brought along their 2-year-old son, Blake, and Mitchell’s apprentice and brother-in-law, Isaiah Pinnock. They are still there helping Texans who were told by local plumbers that they would need to wait three weeks for an appointment and it could cost thousands of dollars. Because of this family, dozens of homes now have running water again.
And there is Ryan Silvey, who left his Austin, Texas, home on Feb. 15 in his truck to get a Mountain Dew and a pack of cigarettes, as snow began to blanket his city. But, as USA Today reported, quickly the weather worsened and the routine errand turned into a grueling four days spent hooking straps and chains to hundreds of stranded vehicles, pulling their passengers to safety. As he said, “If it was me and my kids in a car, or if someone was in pain, I’d hope they’d help me.” One woman, who had her dogs in her car, had to be pulled miles to her family’s home, in reverse. Another family was pulled from a ditch around midnight after their car had lost power and the dad had a head wound that was bleeding. After his story was shared by other news outlets, he was contacted by other truck and Jeep owners, offering to help. While pulling cars himself, Sivley fielded calls and text messages from other stuck drivers and delegated the jobs out to the rest of the makeshift team. He and his colleagues helped hundreds of people in danger, simply out of the goodness of their heart.
And there was Enriqueta Maldonado, who USA Today reported cooked hundreds of meals for those who were vulnerable and had no electricity and water, or a way to get food for themselves. “When we first kind of determined that we had the resources to cook food, it was honestly like a no-brainer,” she said. Monica Maldonado, her mother, called on the pastor at Teri Road Baptist Church, who donated its entire pantry full of food. Nonprofit Do Good ATX set up an online portal to sign up for meals, provided the supplies and enlisted the help of volunteer delivery drivers. So Enriqueta and Monica got cooking. Over the next week, they fed hundreds of people helping to stave off hunger for those in need.
Life is unpredictable and disaster often comes unexpectedly. We never know whether we will be the victim or the person in a position to help. However, as Jews and as human beings, one value remains constant: that we all need to find a way to give when there is someone in need. As the real life heroes mentioned above demonstrated, all we need is an open heart, a compassionate soul and a commitment to do what is right in order to make a difference.
By Hazzan Ben Tisser
Masks. As a child, I associated this word with Halloween, of course with Purim, and occasionally with my dentist. As an adult, masks remained a symbol of parties, good times, and Purim (and yes, the occasional dental appointment), and we learn to think about masks as a metaphor as well. Most recently, masks have become part of our daily lives – our suits of armor, so to speak – protecting our very lives.
For many of us, masks are utilitarian. We want to be sure they fit properly, that they offer sufficient filtration against microparticles, and that they ultimately do their job. Others of us are equally concerned with the aesthetic of our facewear, and in response fashion designers around the world have created lines of very attractive masks. Some of us cannot stand the nuisance of having our faces covered, while others of us take great comfort in the discomfort. And while literal masks are part of our wardrobe, figurative masks are still very much present.
Metaphorically speaking, we have all learned to mask ourselves at times. To wear a “poker face”, or to hide deep emotion; to hide frustration with friends or family members in favor of showing patience and understanding…and to hide those parts of ourselves we might wish others not know about. Sometimes, we hide behind a mask (or an emotional wall) when we are hurt by someone we love.
In Deuteronomy (31:16-18), God speaks to Moshe, calling him up to the peaks of Mt. Nevo, where he will ultimately die. God tells Moshe that Israel will forsake the Covenant, and that God will therefore hide God’s face from the people, but that ultimately they will return and all will be good. The Hebrew used for “hide” is a doubly-strong form (“haster astir,“ which both look and sound like Esther — I’ll get there in a moment). God predicts that God will be so hurt by Israel’s breach of the commandment that it seems God will hide behind a dozen N95’s. Perhaps that is because the people won’t, at that point, deserve to interact directly with God; or perhaps, if we can anthropomorphize God more a moment, God will be so deeply hurt that He doesn’t want His children to see that level of pain on His face…similarly to how a parent deeply hurt by their child might hold back showing deep emotion.
Purim this year is going to be different than ever before. A year ago, we still gathered. A year ago, we didn’t yet really understand what it would mean to be masked in the same way we do today. So the question becomes, how do we do Purim — how do we celebrate the holiday of hiding behind masks — when wearing masks is nothing new or special?
The answer, for me, lies in two Hebrew words many of us know — kavannah and havdalah. Kavannah, or intentionality, is the act of being mindful and purposeful about something. It means taking a moment as we put on our Purim costume and really thinking about what we are doing. It means understanding that we are dressing up for a sacred purpose, to remember the heroism and strength of one brave woman in very unfavorable circumstances over a thousand years ago. Havdalah means separation. We separate so many things as Jews – meat and dairy, the holy and the mundane, the Jewish people and the other nations of the world… This is nothing new. But in setting our intentionality, we create a havdalah–a sacred separation–between the “normal” act of putting on a mask and the holy act of putting on a Purim costume.
Purim is about being who we are not for one night. It’s about celebration and revelry. And we are all pretty good at that, at this point. I don’t think there’s much challenge there. I think the greater challenge lies in what we do the day after Purim. We will wake up the next morning, unlike any year prior, and put a mask on again. Perhaps a surgical mask, or an N95, or perhaps a fashionable mask. The challenge lies in the kavannah with which we put that mask on. How will we use it? Will we use it to hide a part of ourselves from those around us? Will we make an effort to smile and let others see what we are feeling? I would suggest that if Purim is about hiding a part of ourselves behind our masks, the havdalah becomes much more powerful if the rest of our week is about sharing and showing as much of our real selves as possible.
I therefore invite you to take a moment this evening as you put on your costume and make your kavanah, your intentionality, and to really enjoy every aspect of the holiday! But then on Shabbat morning when you put your mask on again and the holiday is over, make a new kavanah — make it somehow different, even special. Don’t hide your face or your emotion. Be open to the world, share with those around you (from a safe distance, of course!), and let your smile shine through.
Rabbi Alex Freedman
A story: There was once a Jewish village in the woods – think of Anatevka from Fiddler – where nothing ever changed. Every morning the men gathered in the synagogue for prayers, generation after generation. Until one day something changed.
A man named Aaron had stepped out of the service right before the Amidah, the most important prayer of all. Afterward, people wondered where he had gone. Why would he do that? The rabbi quelled the gossip: “I’m sure it was just one time. No big deal.”
But the next day, it happened again!
The rabbi wanted to know where he was going instead of connecting to G-d in the synagogue. So the next morning, the rabbi followed Aaron when he slipped away during the service. Aaron walked out of the village and into the woods. Deep in the forest, he found a clearing among the trees and began to pray the most pure prayer the rabbi had seen in a long time. Afterward, Aaron was startled to see the rabbi follow him. The rabbi said, “Your prayer is so inspiring! Come back to the synagogue. Because G-d is the same everywhere.”
Aaron responded, “G-d may be the same everywhere, but I am not.”
Places change us: the woods, the Kotel, the sanctuary. G-d is as present in every place as G-d is in those, but we feel more connected in those places because we are different.
Parashat Terumah describes the portable sanctuary constructed by the Israelites in the desert. G-d does not need the sanctuary to be present among the Jews. But having a dedicated space for G-d enables people to focus on the divine in a way that our living rooms do not. We need the sanctuary, not G-d.
Ironically, the pandemic has turned all this upside down (like Purim next week!). Because now more of us are tuning into services from our homes than are entering our sanctuary. This is not ideal, but we must do what we can to stay safe.
I cannot wait until we are all back in our sanctuary, whenever that day arrives. It will revitalize our social bonds with each other. Like Aaron finding spiritual solace in the woods, I hope it will strengthen our connection to G-d as well.
By Rabbi Michael Schwab
“How can we ensure that Jewish ideals—such as protecting the downtrodden and most vulnerable people in our society—emerge from the abstract and find expression in our daily lives?” In a wonderful dvar Torah on Parshat Mishpatim, Rabbi Shlomo Riskin poses this critical question. Our weekly portion, Mishpatim, gives us a powerful answer: through sincere commitment to following Jewish law. Law, which guides actual daily behavior, is the key vehicle for the tangible expression of the ideals and ethics we hold dear as Jews. For example, the Torah states in our Parsha, “When you lend money to My people, to the poor person with you, you shall not behave toward him as a lender; you shall not impose interest upon him.” (Ex. 22:24). This Torah verse takes the oft repeated values of having compassion for the downtrodden and for treating all people as fellow creations of Gd made in the Divine image, and gives them meaningful pragmatic expression. Here the poor are referred to as “My people” — under the personal protection of Gd. This is a clear statement that those who are poor are not to be treated as lesser, but as equally important and deserving of proper treatment. Therefore, giving money to the poor is not a hand-out, a favor, or even a loan, but a required righteous act that fulfills the Divine principles of justice and compassion.
Riskin points out that Rabbi Hayyim ibn Attar, in his famous work, Or Hahayim, expands on this idea in a radical way. He writes that it is likely that everyone would agree that ideally all people would have an equal share in the resources of the world and that such a share would be more than sufficient for each person’s needs. Alas, that is not how human history has played out. But, the principle still directs our attitude towards our money, and therefore our treatment of it. Based on this verse and others, he claims that those who have more resources are merely holding those resources on behalf of Gd for those who have less. So, when we “lend” a poor person money it is not a true loan, as that money is actually part of their fair share. The affluent, therefore act as Gd’s sacred agents in the just allocation of Gd’s resources. As Riskin states, “This is the message of the exodus from Egypt, the seminal historic event that formed and hopefully still informs us as a people: no individual ought ever be owned by, or even be indebted to, another individual. We are all “‘owned by’ and must be indebted only to Gd.”
This is a foundational truth of our traditional legal system, which, therefore, gives us specific laws and actions that provide for the needs of the downtrodden and enslaved, the poor and the infirm, the orphan and the widow, the stranger and the convert. From this perspective, not only must we value Jewish law in order to preserve our ethical principles, but it is crucial that we ensure that Jewish law remains true to its ethical foundations in the way it is practiced each and every day.