by Hazzan Jacob Sandler
Parshat Metzora, like its sister parasha Tazria, further discusses the Tzara’at, and the process for regaining ritual purity once affected by it. We learn from the Rabbis that Tzara’at is a spiritual ailment manifesting on the skin of a person. Connecting to the case of Miriam who experienced this disease after speaking ill of Moses’ wife, the Rabbis asserted that it was lashon haRa that caused the Tzara’at. So, it isn’t just skin deep. But Metzora informs us that Tzara’at can also infect our houses. Not only does it go further inward, but tzara’at can spread further outwardly as well.
Leviticus 14:34-35 reads, “When you come to the land of Canaan, which I am giving you as a possession, and I place* a lesion of tzara’at upon a house in the land of your possession, and the one to whom the house belongs comes and tells the kohen, saying, ‘Something like a lesion has appeared to me in the house’…”
Rashi notes that the Hebrew in verse 34 ‘venatati’ literally means “and I give [a lesion, etc.]” He explains that this is good news! The Canaanites hid treasures in the walls of their homes, so when a lesion of Tzara’at appeared, it would cause the Israelites to remove those stones and find it. While I’m sure not every case of tzara’at came with hidden treasure, there’s an opportunity to imagine that when inconveniences or great challenges come into our lives, we should keep our eyes open to the gift God is giving us just behind affected stones.
Life is not always easy. There are global challenges like war, illness, and poverty, and there are more local challenges like managing interpersonal relationships, home repairs, or even just preparing for Pesah — c’mon, we’re all thinking about it. We can choose to see these challenges as they are at the surface, or we can dig deeper. We can look inward to see how we might live better lives to overcome the tzara’at, or we can look outward to see what silver linings and hidden treasures might be waiting for us when we meet the challenge head on and overcome them.
by Hazzan Barbara Barnett
My son Adam was born on the first day of spring, that year, the fifth of Nisan. Just before Pesach. Thirteen years later, he celebrated becoming a bar mitzvah, his 13th secular birthday on Shabbat HaChodesh. This Shabbat is the 18th anniversary of his bar mitzvah. Shabbat HaChodesh (Shabbat of the Month, literally), but really “the” should really be capitalized and italicized so it is Shabbat of The month—the first month—according to the Torah.
It is the Shabbat that heralds in the month of Nisan—the month in which we celebrate Passover. This year, it falls on Rosh Chodesh, the first day of Nisan.
Nisan is the first month of the year. As the text (Exodus 12:2) of the HaChodesh maftir reads:
הַחֹ֧דֶשׁ הַזֶּ֛ה לָכֶ֖ם רֹ֣אשׁ חֳדָשִׁ֑ים רִאשׁ֥וֹן הוּא֙ לָכֶ֔ם לְחׇדְשֵׁ֖י הַשָּׁנָֽה׃
This month shall mark for you the beginning of the months; it shall be the first of the months of the year for you.
If you are scratching your head at this point, thinking at Tishrei (the beginning of which is Rosh Hashanah) is the first month, I don’t blame you. We send out New Year cards, offer “Shanah Tova” (A good year) greetings—not to mention changing the calendar from one year’s to the next. (At next Rosh Hashanah it will turn from 5782 to 5783!).
In fact, the Torah states that Rosh Hashana, Yom Kippur, Sukkot and Shemini Atzeret are all in “Hachodesh hashevi’i”—the seventh month.
So, will the “real” New Year please stand up! Is it the first of Nisan or the first of Tishrei? No wonder you’re confused! (I won’t even go into the other “new” years in our tradition! If you want to know, feel free to give me a call or send an email.)
The answer was certainly the subject of debate among the rabbis of the Talmud, particularly Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Yehoshua who argued about it in the Babylonian Talmud. Although there was agreement that the calendar has within it more than one new year.
Weighing the significance of events that took place in Nisan vs Tishrei, including the biggies: the creation of the world (Tishrei) and the redemption from exile marked by Nisan, the two Talmudic rabbis had differing perspectives: R. Yehoshua took a more nationalistic/particularlistic stance, viewing the redemption as the pivot point of our existence as a people (not to mention that Nisan is stated as the first month in the Torah.) R. Eliezer took a more universalistic approach, noting the anniversary of the creation of humanity. He believed that issues related to sin and renewal of the spirit relating to everyone pointed to Tishrei as truly the “new year.”
Certainly, both can be true. Although we mark the start of Nisan only as Shabbat Hachodesh (and with little other fanfare than most Rosh Chodesh observances), some Egyptian-Jewish communities around the world that mark the first of Nisan’s as a New Year with much more fanfare with Al-Tawhid (Seder Ha-Yikhud in Hebrew).
And, with that, I wish you a happy season of renewal and redemption as we prepare to welcome chag ha-aviv (the festival of spring), one of the names for Pesach.
by Rabbi Alex Freedman
What if Purim and Passover weren’t two separate holidays? What if they were bookends for a single month-long process?
Rabbi David Hoffman of JTS taught me such. Notice that exactly one month separates the two – Purim is on the 14th of Adar (15th in Jerusalem) while Passover is celebrated on the 15th of Nisan.
The one-word summary of Purim is chaos. Life nearly ended for all the Jews, and then suddenly they were on top. Today Purim is marked by riotous, chaotic fun, costume, and shtick.
When we turn to Pesach, though, we encounter the opposite. In just one word, Passover is about order. The holiday is dominated by the Seder, the step-by-step dinner script whose Hebrew word means “order.” We follow time-tested processes and rules on Seder night to move us to a place where we taste slavery and freedom, literally and metaphorically.
These days drifting from Purim to Passover are themselves a step-by-step personal journey from chaos to order. How appropriate is it that this march happens during March? People can’t turn from one strong emotion to another on a dime. We need time and slow-and-steady progression. And as the days of Passover draw nearer, we have the opportunity to prepare ourselves for the next stage of the year.
Because these holidays are not the only bookends between which we travel. These very days we emerge from winter to the faint glow of spring. Like us, the natural world doesn’t go from 30 degrees one day to 60 the next (unless you’re in Chicago!). The weather incrementally moves in one direction. Fortunately we are also moving away from the chaos of Omicron’s peak as well. How lucky we are to have Jewish rituals, routines, and traditions – like Shabbat – that provide some order out of life’s chaos.
By Rabbi Michael Schwab
The great Roman philosopher Cicero wrote, “Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues, but the parent of all the others.” This statement, in fact, reflects a very Jewish sentiment that we would be wise to consider seriously. Gratitude, in fact, underlies our very belief system. At the core of our tradition is faith in God. One of the implications of such a belief is that if God is our creator, the natural endowments and blessings we received at birth are not a credit to us, but to our Maker. The gift of our intelligence was not our doing. The physical prowess we may have been born with, endowed by another source. Our creativity, a blessing we received. We can choose to cultivate our gifts, or ignore them. We can use them for good, or for evil. Therein lies the measurement for a life well lived. However, the existence of so many blessings in our lives, including the physical world in which we live, cannot be credited to us. Such a realization should lead one to appreciation – to a sense of gratitude for our lives.
Our great teacher Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel argued that the principal characteristic of religious life is a sense of wonder. This posture toward the world is an attempt to cultivate a way of seeing and relating to all of Creation. Wonder broadens our awareness to include concerns beyond the self. It pushes us to be attentive to the quiet call of God asking us to enter into partnership for the betterment of the world. Wonder keeps aflame our awareness of what Heschel refers to as “the great fellowship of all beings.” And religious wonder asks that we attempt to identify the blessings present in our own lives, despite any of the real personal challenges that we may face. Thus, there is a direct relationship between the acknowledgment of God, the wonder of the created world and the concept of gratitude.
Gratitude, therefore, is partially defined as the ability to say thank you to God and others, for it implicitly signifies our recognition that we are not at the center of the universe. It implies that we depend on each other and need each other’s help, deepening our connections. Gratitude, then, leads to humility, to compassion and to kindness. It leads to a sense of fulfillment, peace and happiness. As Cicero stated, it is the parent of all virtues. A little thankfulness can indeed go a long way.
In fact our whole religious system of blessings reflects the critical foundational importance of cultivating gratitude. We say a blessing in appreciation for all of the food we eat, fragrant smells we encounter, wondrous sights we see, wise people we meet and the list goes on. The pages of our prayer book are filled with praises that express thanks to God. “Tov Lehodot Lashem”, the Psalmist says, “It is a privilege (good) to thank God.” For we have so much for which to be thankful! So on a joyous Purim day anticipated our celebration of freedom on Passover let us cultivate our gratitude. Purim Sameah!
by Hazzan Jacob Sandler
It’s that time of year again when Jews around the world begin reading the third book of the Torah: Vayikra — Leviticus. Most modern people have some degree of difficulty with this parasha because it deals primarily with the sacrificial system. Whether you salivate at the thought of a fleischig kiddush, or can’t stand the idea of harming animals as part of worship, there’s an awful lot of time spent detailing these offerings. The attention to detail is quite moving. Ours is and was a people who wanted to get it exactly right when it came to worship. Now, 2000 years since we last had a Temple for these animal sacrifices, what can we learn from this system about worship?
There were several kinds of offerings: The Olah – burnt offering, Mincha – grain offering, Hattat – sin/purification offering, Asham – guilt offering, Zevach Shelamim – the peace offering. The Zevah Shelamim also has three types: A Todah – thanksgiving, Neder – vow, and Nedavah – free-will offering.
Prayer has replaced sacrifices as the model for connecting with God, and I believe that the kinds of prayers we offer parallel these offerings like so:
The Olah was fully consumed to demonstrate complete devotion. Prayers of song and praise found in P’sukei D’Zimra allow us to raise our voices in deep devotion to God. Our voices are like the reiach nichoach (pleasing odor) of the smoke rising straight upward.
The Mincha offering was directly replaced by the Mincha service. Mincha offerings required no animals – just flour, oil and some frankincense. Similarly our mincha service is short and sweet, allowing us to check in each afternoon.
In our Tachanun prayers, we ask forgiveness and mercy for the ways in which we missed the mark. And in our Amidah, too, we pray for forgiveness for our sins. Sometimes our sins are bein adam l’Makom (between a person and God), and other times our sins are bein adam l’chaveiro (between multiple people). These prayers and supplications which give us room to reflect, apologize and seek forgiveness are mirrored by the Chatat and Asham offerings. These sought to purify us from our mistakes.
Zevach Shlamim – peace offerings included gratitude, vows and free-will offerings. Much of our liturgy focuses us on Gratitude, particularly in Hallel or Birkot HaShachar. Prayer offers us the chance to resolve to be better and can be a time when we make pledges to give Tzedakah – a feature of the Yizkor service. And the free-will offerings are analogous with the prayers of our hearts. Rather than our usual keva – fixed liturgy, I believe that the voluntary offering is much like our kavanah – our personal intentions, the prayers we say spontaneously or as needed. This way of prayer was always concurrent with sacrifices, modeled by Hannah and other pray-ers in the Tanakh.
I hope that when you come to shul this week and the weeks ahead, you can look closely at the translations, commentaries and footnotes of our Torah reading, so you might begin to see that we’re not so different from the Israelites in our quest to feel close to the Divine. We’ve simply taken a page out of every mothers’ playbook and learned to “use our words.”
By Rabbi Josh Warshawsky
No, not a new Journey cover band. Our own journeys. Each one of us. This week we conclude the book of Shemot, the epic story of a people’s fight for freedom against an oppressor much stronger than them and their journey to become a new free nation, and next week we begin the book of Vayikra, which details the holiness code for behavior and interactions of the Levites. What’s going on here? We can learn a powerful lesson from the Torah here about our own individual journeys.
The Netivot Shalom, Rav Shalom Noach Berezovsky, maps out a lesson weaved from the beginning of our story up to this point. When Abraham leaves his homeland to go to a new land, he writes: Not one person has been exactly the same as one other person since the creation of the first human beings. And it happens that every person has their own destination and task that only they can achieve in their lifetime… each person has their own life path to follow, that cannot be compared to the lifepath of others. And this is all said in the language of walking (from Lech Lecha – “holech = walk”), to show that this is the task of every Jew, to always be walking and progressing forward on their path towards their destination.
Each one of us has our own journey that is entirely unique, and what is important is that we continue to progress on our own journey, always learning and growing. Jewish law is called “halacha” which can be translated as “the path” or “the way.” Our goal as human beings should be to never stop learning, never stop moving on our life pathways.
And so finally we arrive at this week’s Torah portion, Pekudei. In the very last verse we read, “For the cloud of the Holy One is on the Tabernacle throughout all their journeyings (Exodus 40:38)…” And we learn that it says, “throughout all their journeys,” with regard to the 42 stops on the journey enumerated in Parashat Mas’ei (later in the book of Numbers when we retell this story), the Ba’al Shem Tov writes: Every Jew throughout their lifetime goes through all 42 journeyings of the People of Israel. And so when it says, “These are the journeyings of the People of Israel,” it is referring to the journeyings of every single Jew, who came out of “Egypt (Mitzrayim),” which we can translate in English as “the narrow place.” Every human’s journey begins from when they exited their mother’s womb (the narrow place) to their arrival in the “land on high.”
And this is what we’ve learned in the book of Exodus, which starts with the portions on exile in Egypt and redemption, which was the birth of Israel. And then they begin on their 42 journeyings. Throughout their journeys there were times when they flourished and grew, like with the giving of the Torah, and there were times when they fell… just like every single person in their lifetime goes through moments of upward journeyings and downward journeyings, and through all of them they arrive at their purpose: to arrive at and make space for Holiness within themselves and in their lives.
So as we enter Shabbat this week, what are some ways you can open yourself up to holiness? How can you continue to learn and grow and walk on your own unique path? See you on the journey.
Shabbat shalom
January – All for One and One for All
“Come together, right now, over me!” This Beatles lyric might be familiar to some, but what does it mean to come together? What does it truly look like? The Chassidic master Shalom Noach Berezovsky, the “Netivot Shalom” teaches us that throughout all of the people of Israel’s journeying, when the Torah talks about the places to which they traveled and the places in which they camped, a plural verb is used: They camped, they journeyed, etc. However, when Israel camps next to Mount Sinai, the text says, “vayichon sham Yisrael neged hahar (Exodus 19:2),” “And Israel (singular) camped in front of the mountain.”
בַּחֹ֙דֶשׁ֙ הַשְּׁלִישִׁ֔י לְצֵ֥את בְּנֵי־יִשְׂרָאֵ֖ל מֵאֶ֣רֶץ מִצְרָ֑יִם בַּיּ֣וֹם הַזֶּ֔ה בָּ֖אוּ מִדְבַּ֥ר סִינָֽי׃
וַיִּסְע֣וּ מֵרְפִידִ֗ים וַיָּבֹ֙אוּ֙ מִדְבַּ֣ר סִינַ֔י וַֽיַּחֲנ֖וּ בַּמִּדְבָּ֑ר וַיִּֽחַן־שָׁ֥ם יִשְׂרָאֵ֖ל נֶ֥גֶד הָהָֽר׃
19:1. In the third month, when the people of Israel were gone forth out of the land of Egypt, the same day they came into the wilderness of Sinai.
19:2. For they had departed from Rephidim, and had come to the desert of Sinai, and had camped in the wilderness; and there Israel camped before the mount.
The Ten Commandments are also written in singular form. Some commentators explain that this is because each person heard the Ten Commandments addressed to her/himself alone, in a way that that specific person could hear, understand, and internalize.
The Netivot Shalom offers us another explanation. He says that at the moment that the people camped at Mount Sinai and prepared for the giving of the Torah, they became, “b’lev echad k’ish echad,” “of one heart as one person.” They had joined their hearts and their souls together to become one. Not only that, each and every Israelite had to be there in order for that one heart, that one person, to be complete. Judaism comes alive when we celebrate it in community. It is only in gathering together that we can reach our fullest potential.
The Netivot Shalom usually likes to tie his teachings to Shabbat in some way, and this teaching is no exception. In this parashah we get the 4th commandment, to remember the 7th Day. Later on in the book of Shemot, it says,
וַיַּקְהֵ֣ל מֹשֶׁ֗ה אֶֽת־כׇּל־עֲדַ֛ת בְּנֵ֥י יִשְׂרָאֵ֖ל וַיֹּ֣אמֶר אֲלֵהֶ֑ם אֵ֚לֶּה הַדְּבָרִ֔ים אֲשֶׁר־צִוָּ֥ה יְהֹוָ֖ה לַעֲשֹׂ֥ת אֹתָֽם׃ שֵׁ֣שֶׁת יָמִים֮ תֵּעָשֶׂ֣ה מְלָאכָה֒ וּבַיּ֣וֹם הַשְּׁבִיעִ֗י יִהְיֶ֨ה לָכֶ֥ם קֹ֛דֶשׁ שַׁבַּ֥ת שַׁבָּת֖וֹן לַה׳
“And Moses gathered the assembly of the people of Israel together and said to them, ‘these are the things which God has commanded you to do: for six days you shall work and the seventh day shall be for you a holy rest…” (Exodus 35:1-2)
The question is what are we supposed to actually do? This quote makes it seem as though Shabbat is just about refraining from doing. Rather, the Netivot Shalom says that what we are supposed to do is to follow Moses’s example and gather the people. When we gather together in communities and congregations, that is how we deepen the holiness of Shabbat.
After the events of last Shabbat in Colleyville, it seems even more daunting and dangerous to come together in community. But even in the face of that trauma, there are so many ways that we can connect and be together, support each other and “come together”. As we enter into Shabbat this week, I invite you to think about and discuss with your family the following questions:
May we see each other and gather and pray together again soon
Shabbat Shalom
December 9th – Healing with Tears
You may have noticed that there’s a lot of crying in this week’s Torah portion. Most of it is coming from Joseph. In fact some commentators call Joseph “ba’al bechi,” “the master cryer.” And they are in awe of Joseph for how expressive he is with his feelings. And there is one particular instance that sticks out that the commentators focus on. It is when Joseph first reveals himself to his brothers and he and his brother Benjamin embrace for the first time.
וַיִּפֹּל עַל צַוְּארֵי בִנְיָמִן אָחִיו וַיֵּבְךְּ וּבִנְיָמִן בָּכָה עַל צַוָּארָיו
And he fell on his brother Benjamin’s neck and wept, and Benjamin wept as well.
They’re weeping tears of joy at being reunited, but also tears of sadness for all that they have lost and for all that they have missed. Rashi gives what seems like a strange commentary to this verse. He says that Joseph is weeping for the two temples that will be destroyed that will be in Benjamin’s future territory, and that Benjamin is weeping for the Mishkan in Shiloh that will be destroyed that will be in Joseph’s future territory.
And the rabbis are confused by this! Reb Yechezkel of Kozimir says, “This doesn’t make any sense! At a time of reunification and brotherhood, why would they be crying about these things that will happen in the future? And all the more so, why are they crying about these things that won’t even be happening to them, but will be happening in a territory that is inhabited by the other one’s tribe?” And the answer is this. Benjamin and Joseph knew that the reason that they were separated by their brothers was because of Sin’at Chinam, senseless hatred. They saw the future destructions that would befall the Jewish people, and knew that these also would be because of senseless hatred. It is for this reason that they wept.
As I thought about this beautiful idea, I noticed yet again the words from the Psalms in our Kabbalat Shabbat liturgy: “Ohavei Adonai Sin’u Ra,” “Those who love the Divine, hate evil.” And this is what it is talking about. In a world of increasing divisiveness, it is so important that we recognize hatred and call it out. Joseph and Benjamin give us the answer to hatred. It is embrace. It is love. It is holding each other and crying together. If we can be true in our hearts, we can bring more light and joy to this world. Or zarua latzadik ul’yishrei lev simchah. Light is planted through righteousness, and joy comes to those who are true of heart. This can only happen together. It can only happen with love.
Shabbat Shalom
November 11th Thursday Thought:
The “I” Gets in the Way
Sometimes we are our own worst enemy. In this week’s parashah, Vayeitze, Jacob runs away from Be’er Sheva, away from his brother Esau, and comes upon a certain place and stops for the night. There he has a famous dream of a ladder reaching to heaven with angels going up and coming down. When he wakes up, he exclaims, “Achen yesh Adonai bamakom hazeh va’anochi lo yadati!” “Surely the Holy One is present in this place, and I did not know it!” Our sages teach us that every single word in the Torah is intentional and there is some meaning behind it. Rav Shimshon from Ostropol taught us to look at the last letters of each of these words: “אכן יש ה’ במקום הזה” The last letters spell the word “נשמה,” “Soul.” Even though the whole world is filled with Divine Glory, the central essence of the Divine is in the soul.
But the key is “Va’anochi lo yadati,” “and I did not know it!” Rabbi Dov Bear, the Maggid of Mezritch, teaches about the verse, “אָנֹכִי עֹמֵד בֵּין-ה’ וּבֵינֵיכֶם (Devarim 5:5),” “I stand between the Divine and you,” I-ness, ego, self-centeredness, is the screen that separates between human and the Divine. If we are able to see through the screen of the ego, of our own self, we open ourselves up to the rest of the world, to what is greater than the self alone.
It’s not easy to see through the screen, to turn down all of the noise of everything else in our lives and find a moment of deep connection. That’s what Shabbat allows us to do if we find a time to truly allow ourselves to enter into it. This Shabbat, I pray that we find our way past the screen of “i-ness,” to find a moment of rest, a moment of divinity, a moment of true Shabbat.
Shabbat shalom.
October 21st Thursday Thought: Vayera
We’re exactly halfway through the month of Cheshvan, the second month on the Jewish calendar and one with no holidays in it. From the end of Simchat Torah to Hannukah (9 weeks!) we have no holidays to celebrate. Perhaps that’s why the Torah portions that we read during this time are some of the most iconic, with the most incredible stories and lessons to be learned. The creation story, Noah’s ark, Abraham and Sarah and the adventures of our ancestors all the way through the story of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.
We listen to and learn the incredible stories of these characters and how they navigated walking through the world in their time. They had so many flaws! Each of them made mistakes along their journeys, but they continued to strive throughout their lives to make themselves and the world better.
Amidst all of these stories, there are little gems and pearls of wisdom hidden on the pages that our chassidic masters pull out to teach us life lessons. In this week’s Torah portion, Vayera, we see Abraham arguing with God, asking God to spare the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah if God can find just 50 righteous people in the city. And God responds, “Im emtza Chamishim tzadikim b’toch ha’ir… (Bresishit 18:26)” “If I find just 50 righteous people in the city…”
Rebbe Simcha Bunim of Peshischa, a famous chassidic rebbe, zooms in on those words “b’toch ha’ir,” “In the city” and discovers something incredibly powerful. He says, “It’s not enough to find 50 righteous people who are ‘benchwarmers’ in the study hall (i.e. studious rabbis and text learners who study in the ivory tower), rather find people who are within the city, mixed in with all the rest of the people, dealing with the world as it is and even so still remain righteous! Only on the merit of those people will God save the city.”
It’s easy to be a tzadik, a righteous person, when you don’t engage with the world. It’s much harder to be out in the city, out on the streets, out engaging and interacting with human beings all the time, and still remain a tzaddik. To be righteous is to be able to interact with human beings at our worst and still find love and compassion and warmth in your heart for our fellow humans. As we enter into Shabbat this week, let’s strive to be righteous in the eyes of Rebbe Simcha Bunim and find a little more love in our hearts to spread over the world.
Shabbat Shalom
Sukkot Thursday Thought: Bring Your Own Spark 9/22/21
In 2013, I spent Sukkot in Los Angeles for the first time. I had moved to LA a month earlier to start a job as the artist-in-residence of a large Conservative synagogue and was living in a house directly behind the shul. Unlike Chicago, Los Angeles actually has the right temperature for a Fall, outdoor holiday with celebratory evening dinners. It’s just like the ancient Israelites would have celebrated it!
I had grown up building a sukkah every year with my family, but this was the first year I would have a sukkah of my own. I was so excited, and decided I was going to design it myself and build it out of PVC pipes and tarps. I took measurements, mapped it all out, and went to Home Depot to pick up all of the supplies. A friend came over and we spent the whole day putting it all together. We were so proud of our creativity, independence, and handiwork, and I was especially proud of my design.
The next morning, I woke up and went to take a look at my beautiful sukkah, and it was in shambles on the ground. It had been a very windy night and the sukkah had blown over! The PVC pipes I had purchased were too narrow, and weren’t able to hold up the wooden beams and bamboo mats we were using for the roof. I was disappointed but undeterred. I went back to Home Depot and reinforced the side poles and put down sandbags to anchor the structure.
And it held! Seven nights and days of celebration ensued, with sukkah hops, teen programming, 20s and 30s meals, study sessions, and more. I loved getting to welcome people into my sukkah. In the Torah we read about Sukkot, “Kol Ha’ezrach b’yisrael yeishvu b’sukkot (Leviticus 23:42), Every citizen of Israel should dwell in sukkot.” The Ba’al HaTanye, Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liadi, taught that the word “ezrach,” citizen, really comes from the language of “zericha,” shining. Every person shines and sparkles and lights up with all the goodness and the beauty. And every spark of holiness and the radiance of the mitzvot – that’s what we should bring into the sukkah.
One of the other names for Sukkot is “Z’man simchateinu, The time of our joy.” Our sages teach that “Z’man,” time, really comes from the language of “zimun v’hazmana – summons and invitation.” In this holiday we invite in joy to last us the whole year.
This Shabbat will be my first monthly visit to Beth El. I am so excited to begin this journey together this year – a journey of music, prayer, Torah, learning, and growth. I invite you to join me this Shabbat at Beth El as we celebrate the double joy of Shabbat and Chol Hamo’ed Sukkot together. Bring your individual holy spark, bring your singing voice, and we’ll create the joy of z’man simchateinu together.
Chag Sameach and Shabbat Shalom
by Hazzan Barbara Barnett
G-d spoke to Moses saying. When you take a census of the Israelites to determine their numbers, each one shall be counted…” (Exodus 30—the beginning of the maftir reading for Shabbat Shekalim)
This Shabbat marks the first of four special Shabbatot leading up to Passover (what, already?) It’s called Shabbat Shekalim, and We are forever counting. Counting years. Counting days. Counting down. Counting up. Counting the days until we can all find a sense of real “normal.”
In the daily life of NSS Beth El we count numbers too, and even one person can make the difference in the life of a mourner. In the lifeblood of our kahal (community). Ten adult Jews are needed to make a minyan and make it possible for someone in mourning or observing a Yahrzeit to say Kaddish.
To give them the comfort of saying the familiar words and being embraced by community. And in these days of COVID, of winter and bad weather, “getting to ten,” can be a challenge and has been a challenge, especially on those days when we are in person. You can, and must, be counted.
We all count. Our votes count on election days (I’ve been involved in enough tight political races to know that!); our commitment and presence count on Mitzvah days counts and can make the difference between someone in need getting help—or not. You may think one voice, one pair of hands, one vote, one person in the sanctuary can’t truly make a difference. But they all do. You do. We do. We count as we are counted.
There is a wonderful song called “G-d’s Counting on Me,” written by the legendary troubadour Pete Seeger (who, while not Jewish, had in his repertoire a great many Jewish songs, including his own take on Kohelet—Ecclesiastes, “Turn, Turn, Turn.” The refrain eloquently express the essence of community, of being counted.
“G-d’s counting on me; G-d’s counting on you…
“Hoping we’ll all pull through, me and you.”
The verses are changeable to the situation at hand, so I offer this original verse, with all props to Pete Seeger and Shabbat Shekalim:
We all need to lend a hand, every woman every man
G-d’s counting on me; G-d’s counting on you.
Minyan or Mitzvah Day; we know it’s the Jewish way
G-d’s counting on me; G-d’s counting on you!
Hoping we’ll all pull through, me and you.”
by Rabbi Alex Freedman
Judaism strives to turn the ordinary into extraordinary. For example, ordinary candles lit on Friday night become Shabbat candles. Ordinary 13th birthdays become a Bar/Bat Mitzvah. These intentional transformations of objects or times make them holy.
Each of you has an opportunity to do the same thing in your workplace. Whatever your profession, I bet there is a way to do your job to serve both G-d and the Jewish people.
This lesson flows from this week’s Torah reading, Ki Tisa. Moses, our greatest leader, is somehow not chosen to build the magnificent Mishkan, the portable Tabernacle (sanctuary). Instead, an unheard-of boy is selected – Betzalel. We are told that G-d “filled him with a divine spirit of skill, ability, and knowledge in every kind of craft” (Ex. 31:3). Today we might say that certain artists, musicians, and athletes have “G-d-given talent.” The Torah teaches that explicitly about Betzalel.
A construction job can be an ordinary building project. However, when the goal is building a synagogue, it becomes a holy act. Architects become more essential than rabbis, which is why Betzalel was chosen ahead of Moses.
Your work can be considered religious or holy even if you don’t work in a synagogue. Indeed, it is not about the physical location of the work but the purpose behind it.
Musicians can be ordinary musicians; but when they play at a Simcha, their work is holy.
Journalists can be ordinary journalists; but when they inspire people to act for a cause, their work is holy.
Betzalel was an ordinary artist until he crafted the Mishkan.
Each of us is granted “divine spirit of skill, ability, and knowledge” – though we’re not always sure what it is. Many people can’t do well the job that you do. We all have the opportunity at some point to use our skills to serve G-d and the Jewish people. That transforms our work from ordinary to extraordinary – and it transforms us as well.
by Rabbi Michael Schwab
As many of you know, Disney came out with a new movie, Encanto, which is an Oscar-nominated animated film featuring the cultural traditions of Colombia. Fascinatingly, in a recent article, author Rudy Malcom ponders the question of whether the Magical Madrigals, the main characters in the movie, are actually Jewish. As he writes, “They’re close-knit to the point of being smothering. They’re successful yet grappling with generations of pain. And their powers come from a candle that has miraculously burned for 50 years — kind of like oil that lasted eight days.” Further, he cites that a Tik Tok user made interesting parallels between the fictional Madrigals and the Conversos, Spanish and Portuguese Jews who converted to Catholicism after persecution during the 14th and 15th centuries. In fact, a 2018 study demonstrated that a full quarter of the Latin American respondents had traces of Sephardic Jewish ancestry. What is more, soundtrack creator Lin-Manuel Miranda (of Hamilton fame) has strong Jewish connections, including being in a Jewish a cappella group in college and the fact that he considered making a musical out of Hayim Potok’s famous book, “My Name is Asher Lev”. Add to that, the name Madrigal, itself, is identified by nameyouroots.com as possibly a Sephardic name from the Middle Ages.
What might be even more interesting, though, is Malcolm’s observation that regardless of whether the movie creators intended the main characters to be Jewish, the story of the Madrigals resonates with Jews today and could contain some lessons for us. The character Abuela Alma Madrigal miraculously received her magic-giving candle after soldiers killed her husband and forced her and her fellow villagers to flee their homes. Fifty years later, every child in the family has received a magical gift on their fifth birthday — except for 15-year-old Mirabel, who learns that her family is losing their magic. She learns that their candle is flickering, and that their enchanted home, Casita, is cracking, because of family issues that relate to their heritage and history.
As Malcom writes, “We Jews can surely relate to how pain is passed l’dor v’dor, from generation to generation”. And we can also relate to the fact that there is often much for contemporary Jews to negotiate when deciding how much of our tradition to keep intact, and how to pass it on, while still maintaining our own personal happiness in contemporary society and while achieving our personal goals.
Therefore, perhaps the fears of the character, Alma, resonate with our own: our anxiety over the precarious nature of American Jewish life. As Malcom writes, “We’ve built places of power and safety (like Casita) and, in many ways, become part of the establishment, yet we carry the impact of antisemitism in our minds and bodies. And our synagogues face the real threat of white supremacist violence and conspiracy theories that Jews control the world.”
It is instructive to note that in the movie, there is a happy ending. So, while we can’t be sure the Madrigals were intended to represent the descendants of Sephardic Jews, perhaps they can give us hope. Even though our metaphorical Casita may have cracks, there is a bright future for us where the candle keeps burning and our people continue the age-old Jewish tradition of finding the magical balance between flourishing in contemporary times and preserving the sacred nature of who we are and what makes us special.
by Hazzan Jacob Sandler
In this week’s parasha Terumah, we read a verse which has become fairly well known. Exodus 25:8 reads, וְעָ֥שׂוּ לִ֖י מִקְדָּ֑שׁ וְשָֽׁכַנְתִּ֖י בְּתוֹכָֽם: “ve’asu li mikdash v’shachanti b’tocham.” “And they shall make for Me a sanctuary, and I shall dwell among them.” The Mishkan and its successors the Beit HaMikdash and the modern synagogue became emblematic structures that represent “G-d’s House” or G-d’s dwelling place. However, that’s not what the text says. G-d doesn’t say ‘make Me a sanctuary so I can dwell in it’ but rather, G-d will dwell in us.
So there’s two lessons I see in this: One is that Judaism can’t be solely confined to a building. It has to live in us! G-d, tradition, ritual and values that are the foundation of Jewish life should be alive in each of us, and taken with us wherever we go. As we read each morning in the second paragraph of the Shema – b’shivt’cha b’veitecha uv’lecht’cha vaderech – when you’re at home and when you’re away. Wherever we go, G-d’s presence and our Jewishness should dwell in us. And we bring that presence to the rest of the world through our deeds–mitzvot, study, and acts of chesed (kindness).
The other lesson is that we still shall make for G-d a Sanctuary. It is true that we must go out and live our values, and it is important that we have a Sanctuary–a structure that allows us to gather and bring our individuality to the collective. The Mishkan was transportable, allowing us to be at home and away at the same time. Now we have more permanent buildings where we come together for prayer, study, mitzvot and community. We should, when we’re comfortable to return, continue making our Sanctuary by filling it with song, joy, comfort and each other. It is so crucial to create physical spaces for spiritual moments. This way, there’s a designated place where G-d’s presence can come alive for us–a place where G-d can live. And just like many of us are looking forward to leaving our homes, let’s not keep G-d’s presence confined solely to the “Houses of G-d.”
When we read parshat Terumah this week, let’s remember to create spaces for spirituality where we can gather and also bring the Presence of G-d with us there and everywhere we should happen to go. Let us make for G-d a sanctuary, so that G-d can dwell in each of us.
1175 Sheridan Road, Highland Park, IL 60035 | (847) 432-8900 | [email protected] |
Copyright © 2025. All rights reserved. Website designed by Addicott Web.
