By Hazzan Jacob Sandler.
Our parasha begins (Gen 18:1-2): “Hashem appeared to him (Abraham) by the terebinths of Mamre; he was sitting at the entrance of the tent at the heat of the day. Looking up, he saw three people standing about him and seeing this, he ran from the tent’s entrance to greet them and bowed toward the ground.”
It is known in our tradition that these three ‘people’ were in fact three angels. However the word in Hebrew is anashim, which literally means people (or men). In a few weeks we will read about Joseph who was sent by his father to find his brothers in shechem. The Torah says “a man came upon [Joseph] wandering in the fields. The man asked him, ‘What are you looking for?’” and Joseph goes on to tell this Ish–this man, who then directs him toward Dothan where his brothers had gone. Here again, but in the singular, we see the word for a human man, but Rashi teaches us that this was the angel Gabriel.
In fact, according to Rabbeinu Bachya ben Asher, the angels who visited Avraham and Sarah “were Michael, Raphael, and Gabriel. Michael had been assigned the task of announcing that Sarah would have a child and to save Lot. Both of these assignments were expressions of God’s love or mercy respectively, and could therefore be described as being of the same category. Raphael had the task of healing Avraham. Gabriel’s task was to turn Sodom upside down.”
These angels appear to our ancestors as regular human beings and there are two commonalities: 1) they have a specific task or message, and 2) their arrival appears to be serendipitous. As Lawrence Kushner wrote, “The Hebrew word for angel is malakh which also means “messenger,” one who is sent…Unsuspecting and unaware. Consumed by their own plans and itineraries. Busy at work on their own schemes…people chosen to be messengers of the Most High rarely even know that they are God’s messengers…I do not know how many times in one’s life one is also a messenger. But for everyone it is at least once.”
When we read parshat Vayera we are reminded that an angel may indeed come in the form of a regular person. Kushner’s words, which can be found in Siddur Lev Shalem (p.153), echo a spiritual sentiment I’ve held for many years. In our lives, we never know when we might be the person in the right place, at the right time with the right message for our loved one, our friend or even a stranger. I can recall moments when I’m certain I’ve encountered such angels in my own life. Perhaps these were just unlikely but pleasant coincidences, but I look to Maimonides for a little assurance. In his Guide for the Perplexed he wrote, “Before the angels have accomplished their task, they are called men (human), when they have accomplished it they are angels.” Perhaps it is on us to develop our dispositions toward kindness, open our hearts and minds to the beautiful mystery of random chance, and treat everyone as though they might be an angel, or in need of an angel. We might visit the sick like Raphael, we might bring good news and hope like Michael, or we might help someone find their way like Gabriel in the Joseph story. Imagine greeting everyone we met with that same rush to embody Abraham and Sarah’s hospitality. The world would be a much more angelic place.
By Rabbi Alex Freedman.
You have probably heard the expression: “It’s not just what you do that matters, but how you do it.” We learn from Abraham: How quickly we do something matters too.
If I ask somebody to bring me a bottle of water, for example, it’s a very different impression if it takes that person a moment or a full minute. The former conveys, “what you said is important, and I want to meet your needs right away.” While the latter communicates, “I’ll do it when it’s convenient for me.” Same action, different speeds, different emotional takeaways.
Abraham had a reflex for doing things quickly. At the end of our Parsha, Lech Lecha, G-d instructs him to circumcise himself and those males of his household. Isaac is 8 days old, which is why Jewish baby boys ever after have the Bris on the 8th day. But his father Abraham is 99 years old. Nevertheless, the Torah says he does this “B’Etzem Hayom Hazeh – on this very day” (Gn. 17:23). That he does not delay shows his devotion to G-d and his eagerness at entering the covenant. We learn from this the expression “Zrizin Makdimin Lamitzvot,” which means those who are eager do the Mitzvah on the sooner side.
This is a great lesson for how we today should respond. When we have the opportunity to do a Mitzvah, we should jump into it. Similarly, it’s a great reminder of an important way to show love to people important to us, like family or friends. If they need a hand, extend it right away. Try it; they will be touched by your quickness to respond.
This enthusiasm is part of Abraham’s spiritual DNA. When we fast forward to the next Torah reading, Vayera, we encounter the scene of Abraham extending lavish hospitality toward three strangers, ushering them into his tent and providing the equivalent of Thanksgiving dinner. Look carefully at the speed at which he operates (words in bold): The L-rd appeared to [Abraham] by the terebinths of Mamre; he was sitting at the entrance of the tent as the day grew hot. Looking up, he saw three men standing near him. Perceiving this, he ran from the entrance of the tent to greet them and, bowing to the ground, he said, “My lords! If it please you, do not go on past your servant. Let a little water be brought; bathe your feet and recline under the tree. And let me fetch a morsel of bread that you may refresh yourselves; then go on—seeing that you have come your servant’s way.” They replied, “Do as you have said.”
Abraham hastened into the tent to Sarah, and said, “Quick, three seahs of choice flour! Knead and make cakes!” Then Abraham ran to the herd, took a calf, tender and choice, and gave it to a servant-boy, who hastened to prepare it. (Gn. 18:1-7)
Again and again, Abraham is in a hurry to take care of these strangers, which indicates that the hospitality is not mere lip service, but comes from a place of genuine enthusiasm. His outward speed conveys his internal conviction. We, Abraham’s children, can do the same.
By Rabby Michael Schwab.
This week we entered into the Hebrew month of Heshvan. This month is also referred to as MarHeshvan – ‘The bitter month of Heshvan”, because it contains no holidays. In fact, after Simchat Torah, we must wait until Hanukkah for the next holiday. In modern America Hanukkah is often characterized by the giving of gifts. Our children and grandchildren eagerly anticipate the presents they will receive each night as the family gathers to light the candles. However, as many of you know, the idea of gift giving on Hanukkah is a relatively recent addition to the observance of the holiday.
Yet, despite the modern origin of this custom, on some level, Hanukkah has always been about gifts, though not in a material sense. The true gift of Hanukkah actually lies in its profound spiritual essence which has the power to be transformative for each and every Jew. The Hebrew word, “Hanukkah”, actually means “dedication”. This is because, after the victory of the Maccabees, the Jewish people were able to redeem the holy Temple, which the Hasmonean Greeks had desecrated and used to store their livestock. In a ceremony that began with the rekindling of the lamps of the sanctuary, the leaders of Israel dedicated the Temple to the service of God once again.
However, this deed was much more than the physical dedication of a building. The mere fact that the rabbis simply refer to this holiday as the holiday of “dedication”, without specifying exactly to what, allows the spiritual power of such a dedication to transcend any specific historical event and allows the holiday to take on multiple meanings. In other words, the gift given to us on the holiday of Hanukkah is embodied in its ability to inspire us, today, to dedicate ourselves to a higher purpose in a way that is relevant to each of our current situations. Hanukkah, therefore, is a personal opportunity for us each to rekindle our individual flames and to inspire us to live up to our ideals.
In religious terms, Hanukkah thus gives Jews a chance to renew our faith and to renew our commitment to Jewish life. Thus, ironically, during a holiday whose practice was so influenced by the surrounding Christian culture, we are actually supposed to think about how we can integrate our Judaism more deeply into our lives. Can we renew our dedication to following Jewish law and tradition? Can we renew our dedication to fulfilling the mitzvah of helping others in need? Can we renew our dedication to supporting and loving our family? Can we renew our dedication to building our community? On Hanukkah we get a chance to take stock of what values we have been actively fulfilling and we get a chance to assess how successful we have been with the personal resolutions that we may have made during the High Holidays only a few weeks ago.
So rather than a bitter month, we can see this month as a time to plan how we are going to re-dedicate ourselves to our Judaism. Here at Beth El, we have so many ways to do this: help make a minyan, participate in Social Action and Hazak to help others, write a letter in the Torah to fulfill 613, celebrate Shabbat and holidays and participate in the many learning opportunities available. Looking forward to seeing you here at Beth El!
By Rabbi Alex Freedman
Genesis begins with brimming promise and potential – people are endowed with the Divine image! And then humanity immediately devolves into chaos and wickedness. How did people fall so fast?
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks Z”L writes a wonderful essay zooming in on people taking responsibility. Or, more correctly, not taking responsibility.
First are Adam and Eve, who not only eat of the forbidden fruit, but then claim it’s not their fault. Adam blames Eve (and G-d) while Eve blames the snake. Neither takes personal responsibility for their actions. Neither says, “I messed up, and it’s my fault.”
Next we meet their sons Cain and Abel. Burning with jealousy, the older brother Cain murders his younger brother. When G-d confronts him about his deed, Cain famously replies: “Am I my brother’s keeper?” By doing so, Cain fails the test of moral responsibility. Of course we are responsible for those close to us! Cain does not deny his action or blame somebody else, but he wonders why he should care about anyone beside himself.
Later we meet Noah, who diligently builds the ark that G-d instructs to survive the flood. If you look carefully, you will see that Noah never says a word throughout the story. While Noah is righteous and obeys G-d, he never speaks up on behalf of humanity or asks G-d to spare them from destruction. Noah does not understand collective responsibility.
Each of these generations fails a different test of responsibility. Interestingly, it is Abraham who later succeeds them and passes each test. He meets the test of personal responsibility when he says “Hinneni, here I am,” and carries out the binding of Isaac himself. He meets the test of moral responsibility when he welcomes three strangers into his tent and graciously offers them wonderful hospitality. And he meets the test of collective responsibility when he speaks up on behalf of the wicked residents of Sodom and Gomorrah, asking G-d to save them for the sake of the innocent.
We Jews are descendants of Abraham, the first Jew. As we reread these stories of the birth of humanity, let us recall that these tests of responsibility await us in each of our own lives as well.
Shabbat Shalom.
The Torah teaches that we celebrate the festival of Sukkot in order to remember that God provided sukkot for B’nai Yisrael in the wilderness:
“You shall live in Sukkot (booths) for seven days, all citizens in Israel shall live in Sukkot; in order that future generations may know that I made the Israelite people live in booths, when I brought them out of the Land of Egypt, I am the Lord your God.” (Vayikra 23:41-43)
But what exactly were these sukkot?
This Talmudic machloket (debate) (Sukkah 11b) states the following:
‘I made the Israelite people live in Sukkot (booths).’
Sukkot refers to the “clouds of glory,” said Rabbi Eliezer.
Rabbi Akiva says: God made real Sukkot for them.
According to Rabbi Akiva, we are supposed to remember the actual huts that B’nai Yisrael lived in while God led them through the wilderness. There is no particular symbolism to this word, as he understands this very literally. It is what it is.
According to Rabbi Eliezer, the “sukkot” we are supposed to remember are not the tents they lived in, but God’s pillar of cloud, God’s clouds of glory that miraculously surrounded and protected B’nai Yisrael in the wilderness (Shemot 13:21-22).
Rashbam, Rashi’s grandson, interprets this debate, with both Eliezer’s physical and Akiva’s metaphorical understandings in mind.
Lord Rabbi Jonathan Sacks z”l explains Rashbam’s understanding of the purpose of the sukkot as follows: Rashbam says that the sukkot were there to remind the Israelites of their past so that, at the very moment they were feeling the greatest satisfaction at living in Israel – at the time of the ingathering of the produce of the land – they should remember their lowly origins. They were once a group of refugees without a home, never knowing when they would have to move on. The festival of Sukkot, says Rashbam, is integrally connected to the warning Moses gave the Israelites at the end of his life about the danger of security and affluence:
‘Be careful that you do not forget the LORD your God …Otherwise, when you eat and are satisfied, when you build fine houses and settle down, and when your herds and flocks grow large and your silver and gold increase and all you have is multiplied, then your heart will become proud and you will forget the LORD your God, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery …You may say to yourself, “My power and the strength of my hands have produced this wealth for me.”’ (Devarim 8: 11-17)
The festival of Sukkot, according to Rashbam, exists to remind us of our humble origins so that we never fall into the complacency of taking freedom, the land of Israel and the blessings it yields, for granted, thinking that it happened in the normal course of history.
As we dwell in and visit all of the wonderful sukkot in our community, may we all experience that empathetic recollection of what our ancestors experienced, reminding us not to take the shelter that we have today for granted, further reminding us of the miracles in our lives today. Having this attitude of awe and gratitude, especially during the festival of Sukkot, leads us to an attitude of happiness. For as we know, this is Z’man Simchateinu, the time of happiness. May this week bring us all much joy, as we celebrate in sukkot across our community.
As it is written: V’samachta b’chagecha v’hayita ach sameach! You shall rejoice in your festival…and be only joyous! (Deut. 16:14-15)
Moadim l’simcha!
There’s a small poem1 by Yehudah HaLevi that can be found in the Mahzor on page 231 or in Siddur Lev Shalem on page 359 that reads,
1 יָהּ, אָנָה אֶמְצָאֶךָּ? מְקוֹמְךָ נַעֲלָה וְנֶעְלָם!
וְאָנָה לֹא אֶמְצָאֶךָּ? כְּבוֹדְךָ מָלֵא עוֹלָם!
“Yah ana emtza’acha m’kom’cha na’aleh v’ne’lam? V’ana lo emtza’acha? Kevod’cha maleh olam!” It means “God, where will I find You? Your place is high and hidden. But, where would I not find you? Your glory fills the world.” The poem plays on an apparent contradiction found within the Kedusha.
2 קָדוֹשׁ קָדוֹשׁ קָדוֹשׁ יְהֹוָה צְבָאוֹת מְלֹא כָל הָאָֽרֶץ כְּבוֹדוֹ:
“Holy Holy Holy is Hashem Tzeva’ot – His Glory fills the whole Earth”2 and “Blessed is the glory of HaShem from His Place.”3
3 בָּרוּךְ כְּבוֹד־יְהֹוָה מִמְּ֒קוֹמוֹ:
Where exactly does God live? Is God in Heaven somewhere entirely distant and grand? Is God in a place that can only be described as HaMakom (The Place)? Or is God everywhere – all around us, across the globe and the cosmos, constantly nearby at all times?
Starting 5 weeks ago in Elul we began adding Psalm 27 to our daily prayers, and in it we recite: “One thing I ask of You, Hashem. To dwell in Your house all the days of my life.”4 And throughout the year, when we recite Ashrei we claim that those who ‘dwell in God’s house’ are joyous.
4 אַחַ֤ת ׀ שָׁאַ֣לְתִּי מֵֽאֵת־יְהֹוָה֮ אוֹתָ֢הּ אֲבַ֫קֵּ֥שׁ שִׁבְתִּ֣י בְּבֵית־יְ֭הֹוָה כׇּל־יְמֵ֣י חַיַּ֑י
But where is G-d’s house? High and hidden? Or filling the whole world? Is God transcendent, ineffable, and entirely impossible to grasp? Or is G-d’s presence iminent, always close to those who call out to G-d in truth? The answer is both. G-d is everywhere, visible in the manifold works of creation we see anytime we truly open our eyes. G-d is felt everywhere, audible in the praises of all that breathes a breath of life. G-d is all around us, we are reflections of His divine image.
G-d is where we feel safe. G-d is also present, witnessing our discomfort serving as our help and strength in times of distress. G-d is at the synagogue, and G-d is at home. G-d is up in the highest Heavens, and G-d’s glory fills the Earth. G-d is not only found on the lofty throne of Judgment making decrees on Yom Kippur. G-d is found outside, in a flimsy and temporary sukkah we build to remind ourselves that it is by G-d’s grace alone that we survive. As we transition from the spiritual height of Yom Kippur to Sukkot – known as the Season of our Joy, let’s remind ourselves: joyous are those who dwell in G-d’s house, they praise God forever. Selah5.
5אַ֭שְׁרֵי יוֹשְׁבֵ֣י בֵיתֶ֑ךָ ע֝֗וֹד יְֽהַלְל֥וּךָ סֶּֽלָה׃
And as we leave our houses to dwell in Sukkot, let’s embrace the opportunity to tune into the natural, physical, beautiful world filled with
G-d’s presence. Let’s invite that presence into our sukkot, and into our lives and joyfully reside in G-d’s house. Chag Sameach!
Rabbi Alex Freedman
Rosh Hashanah is over and next week’s Yom Kippur feels far away. What are we supposed to do now?
Don’t think of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur as separate and distinct holidays. Instead, consider them bookends to a single extended season – the time for Teshuvah. This Hebrew word means “repentance” but it connotes forgiveness, return, and second chances. On Rosh Hashanah, we sang during UNetaneh Tokef “on Rosh Hashanah it is written, and on Yom Kippur it is sealed.” The in-between days are the test for the new commitments we made on Rosh Hashanah. What happened when we went home after services? Did we start living by our new commitments? Or did we fall into familiar patterns? Based on this in-between week, we set the tone for the year ahead.
Known as the Ten Days of Teshuvah, Jewish Law urges us to be at our very, very best during these days, even if we take on practices we cannot otherwise sustain every day of the year, like going to Minyan. This is spiritual crunch time.
I learned the following from my teacher Rabbi Daniel Goldfarb at the Conservative Yeshiva in Jerusalem: The 10 days of Teshuvah include both Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, which leaves seven in-between days. Each day of the week leaves its mark on that day for the entire year. So today, Thursday, sets the tone for every Thursday in 5783. The next day, Friday, sets the tone for every Friday in the year ahead, and so forth. If we want the year to go as we wish, we have to set the tone early. Otherwise we revert to old habits.
I wish you a meaningful Yom Kippur. But before that, I wish you a productive Ten Days of Teshuvah.
Shabbat Shalom.
by Rabbi Alex Freedman
Rosh Hashanah is over and next week’s Yom Kippur feels far away. What are we supposed to do now?
Don’t think of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur as separate and distinct holidays. Instead, consider them bookends to a single extended season – the time for Teshuvah. This Hebrew word means “repentance” but it connotes forgiveness, return, and second chances. On Rosh Hashanah, we sang during UNetaneh Tokef “on Rosh Hashanah it is written, and on Yom Kippur it is sealed.” The in-between days are the test for the new commitments we made on Rosh Hashanah. What happened when we went home after services? Did we start living by our new commitments? Or did we fall into familiar patterns? Based on this in-between week, we set the tone for the year ahead.
Known as the Ten Days of Teshuvah, Jewish Law urges us to be at our very, very best during these days, even if we take on practices we cannot otherwise sustain every day of the year, like going to Minyan. This is spiritual crutch time.
I learned the following from my teacher Rabbi Daniel Goldfarb at the Conservative Yeshiva in Jerusalem: The 10 days of Teshuvah include both Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, which leaves seven in-between days. Each day of the week leaves its mark on that day for the entire year. So today, Thursday, sets the tone for every Thursday in 5783. The next day, Friday, sets the tone for every Friday in the year ahead, and so forth. If we want the year to go as we wish, we have to set the tone early. Otherwise we revert to old habits.
I wish you a meaningful Yom Kippur. But before that, I wish you a productive Ten Days of Teshuvah.
Shabbat Shalom.
At the beginning of Parashat Nitzavim, B’nai Israel are all standing before God, ready to again enter into the covenant with God first received back in Exodus, reaffirming that holy relationship established back at Mount Sinai.
A few generations have passed, so that those who were children back at Sinai are now present as the elders of this generation. The whole community is being addressed by Moshe, all those present. And then he reflects on the past generations, back to our earliest ancestors who lived long before this current crowd. For as we know, God promised to be God to Avraham and all of his future descendants. Now we are approaching an intriguing statement.
I make this covenant, with its sanctions, not with you alone (29:13), but both with those who are standing here with us this day before the Lord our God and with those who are not with us here this day (29:14).
At first glance, it seems that those not present refers back to the past, but then what about future generations? This is worded in an interesting way: a covenant is being given both to those present and those not present. How can a covenantal agreement be made with people who are not there to make that commitment, to hear these words directly?
Imagine finding out that we are bound by our ancestors to this huge covenantal agreement from the past. How can children be party to a covenant that they did not, themselves, agree to? One answer to this conundrum, articulated by Rav Ashi in Talmud Shabbat 146a, is that in addition to all those standing there, the souls of all future Israelites, both descendants and converts alike, were also present. After all, verse 14 refers to those present as “those standing here with us” and those not present as “those who are not with us.” Since “standing” is something that only bodies do, the verse hints that despite their bodies not being present, future Israelites were there in spirit. This understanding is similar to the Mount Sinai experience: that all of our souls, past, present and future, were all there.
The 19th century commentator, the Malbim, probes this Talmudic interpretation. He asks, if only their souls were present, how could the covenant apply to both their souls and their bodies? If the covenant is only with the souls of future Israelites, the physical aspects of the covenant should not apply. To this he answers that although there is no direct connection between the souls of children and their parents, since each soul is a unique divine gift, there is a connection between their bodies. And here is where religion and science converge to truly understand the reality of this possibility.
Our souls are distinct, but our bodies are produced from the physical material, the DNA of our parents’ bodies. So not only were we there as disembodied souls, our bodies were also there within the bodies of our ancestors! We are indeed party to the covenant, body and soul. Despite our awareness of ourselves as unique individuals, we are the products of both our parents’ DNA as well as the particular history, circumstances, and decisions of our family, tribe, and nation. So much is placed under our feet, and so much is placed on our shoulders, without our having a say in the matter. And yet, despite all of that, we are held responsible as individuals. At the same time, it is a privilege to be part of a covenant with God, which our ancestors gifted to us.
When we return to these holiest days of the year, we are taking our bodies and our souls on a sacred journey to new experiences in this new year.
Shana Tova.
by Rabbi Alex Freedman
I’m afraid we may be remembering the wrong thing.
This week we read a passage connected to Purim. We recall how the Israelites’ enemy Amalek nearly wiped them out shortly upon leaving Egypt. The connection to Purim is that Megillat Esther (3:1) tells us that Haman was himself an Amalekite.
The Jewish tradition has generally understood Amalek to be the external enemy that must constantly be destroyed. In other words, we are called upon to take up arms against someone in every generation. This position is highly dangerous.
I want to offer an interpretation from my teacher at JTS, Professor Alan Cooper, citing Rabbi Samuel ben Moses de Medina (16th century Greece).
He challenges the standard reading on two points:
“[Remember what Amalek did to you on the way, as you were leaving Egypt, that it happened upon you on the way and struck those of you in the back, all the weaklings behind you] when you were tired and exhausted and did not fear G-d.”
Carefully identify who the subject of the verse is. Almost all translations (including JPS) claim the ones who did not fear G-d were the callous Amalekites. But a Peshat (contextual) reading posits that the subject should be “You,” the Israelites. The Israelites were tired and exhausted, and they did not fear G-d either.
If so, why?
?הֲיֵשׁ ה’ בְּקִרְבֵּנוּ, אִם-אָיִן
“Is G-d among us or not?”
Rabbi Samuel claims that it was precisely the Israelites’ lack of faith in G-d and Moses that made them vulnerable to external attack. Amalek was nothing compared to the mighty Egyptian army just defeated, but it stood a chance because it attacked when the Israelites were spiritually weak. “Remember Amalek” is an eternal rallying call for the Jews to never forget how we were nearly destroyed when we lacked faith in G-d.
I hope that when challenges face our community – as they always have and always will – that we remember to look inwards before looking outwards.
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