Special Commentaries

D'var Torah for Gay Pride Month

Many communities around the United States celebrate June as Gay Pride Month.  And this year, we kicked off June with the celebration of Shavuot, the holiday of the giving of our Torah. Our Torah.  Because Torah was given to us, not just to our ancestors at Sinai.  

On Shavuot morning, we read: "And all the people witnessed the thunder and lightning, the blare of the shofar and the mountain smoking."  (Exodus 20:15)

The midrash (Exodus Rabbah 28:4) on this text reads: "This is what Moshe said to Israel: ‘Those who are standing before the Holy One our God with us today and those who are not with us today’ (Deuteronomy 29) – It does not say, ‘that are not here standing with us today,’ but rather ‘with us today.’   Those future souls who weren’t yet created weren’t actually standing.  Although they did not yet exist, still each one received their share of the Torah... and not only all the prophets received their prophecy from Mount Sinai but even the scholars who arise in every generation, each one of them received theirs from Sinai."

All the people -- all Jews, past and future.  You and me. 

We act as though the word went out once and froze, that revelation was a one-time event many thousands of years ago, but it wasn’t :  The Mishnah in Pirke Avot (6:2) tells us:  "Every day a voice goes out from Mt. Horeb and announces…."  "Every day" -- in the present tense.

You heard the voice of God at Sinai and that voice continues to speak.

Another midrash adds that everyone heard the voice according to their own capacity and that clearly everyone’s capacity is different.  Even Moshe.  The midrash offers categories of people - pregnant women, old men, etc.  Each group has a shared experience that enables them to hear different aspects of revelation.  Their response to shared experience may not be the same, but the wisdom that comes from that experience may teach all of us.

"So this is all very nice," you may be saying, "but what do we do with the explicit texts in the Torah that we find problematic?"

For example, the rabbis took issue with the Torah’s mandate that a "rebellious and disobedient son" (Deuteronomy 21:18-21) is to be put to death by stoning. The rabbis were not anxious to see any teenagers stoned. In fact, in the Talmud (Bavli Sanhedrin 71a), Rabbi Shimon says: "there never was one [a child who met all the criteria] and there never will be in the future." The rabbis defined the rebellious and disobedient son out of existence.

But they didn’t eliminate the text.  And we do not eliminate texts that make us uncomfortable, even if they are, as Phyllis Trible, the preeminent feminist bible scholar, termed them, "texts of terror." Perhaps because they have been texts of terror, and still play this role, we should not forget them. I would argue that it’s our responsibility to interpret the text, to read it and discover new meanings, to seek its relevance for ourselves, our community, our children, our world.

Let’s look at the text that is relevant to Gay Pride Month:

"And a man shall not lie with a man as with a woman, it is an abomination…. And a man who lies with a man as with a woman, they have done an abominable thing, they will both surely die and their blood is upon them." (Lev. 18:20, 20:13) These texts have been used, and are being used, to exclude oppress, and even kill gay men – and lesbians as well.

What might this mean - to lie with a man as one lies with a woman? Perhaps we read that when one is lying with a man, one must not pretend that one is not doing so.  One must face facts, despite fear and communal disapproval.

Maybe you’ve seen the t-shirt that reads:  I’m not gay but my boyfriend is.  It’s meant tongue in cheek, but it has a grain of truth.  There are many, many people who, for fear of repercussion, from internalizing what we hear on the news every day, are unable to be honest with themselves or others about the truth of their lives and loves.

So this is the meaning of the text to me:  "Be honest with yourself in all that you do."  Lying with a man as with a woman is a metaphor for lying to yourself, for not facing the truth of your life and sharing it with others.  If we are not honest with ourselves, we cannot be present to ourselves, to each other, to revelation.

Many gay people have successfully integrated, or at least have had a fruitful struggle with this teaching.  It’s no coincidence that there are a disproportionate number of gay clergy.  The process of coming out of the closet, the work we’ve done to become whole and unashamedly ourselves is deeply spiritual.  Perhaps this is the Torah that gay men and lesbians have heard and give the world – the lesson that we all, gay or not, must be honest about our lives.  And it’s a lesson that is useful for everyone.

The rebbe of my favorite Chassidic story taught this lesson on his deathbed, surrounded by students.  He suddenly became fearful and began to cry out.  His students said to him:  "Reb Zushya, what are you afraid of?  You were like Moshe!"  He responded, "The Holy One, blessed be God, will not ask me, ‘was I like Moshe.’  He will ask me, ‘was I Zushya.’"

If we are not ourselves, we deprive the world of that bit of Torah that was revealed to us, to our own souls – that others didn’t hear.  Torah, the Divine sharing of God’s self, has been placed into our hands.  Into our very selves – in the language of Deuteronomy, "The thing is very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart, to do it" (30:14).  So I ask of you, of us all, that we seek our truths, open to the Torah in our hearts, and share it with each other. 

Shabbat shalom and Happy Pride.

With thanks to Rabbi Dana Z. Bogatz and Dr. David Sakheim for their insights and support.

Prepared by Rabbi Lina Grazier-Zerbarini

We are currently in the 50-day period between Passover and Shavuot during which Jews count the days of the omer.  The practice of counting the omer, literally meaning “sheath,” is related to sacrifices that were made in the Temple during the spring harvest season, as set forth in Leviticus 23:15-21: “And from the day on which you bring the sheaf of elevation offering—the day after the Sabbath—you shall count off seven weeks.  They must be complete...”

Today, Jews observe the period of the omer in different ways.  Some refrain from cutting their hair during the omer in order to remember a plague that afflicted the students of Rabbi Akiva, a renowned authority in Jewish tradition who lived around the beginning of the second century.  The 33 day of the omer, known as Lag Ba’Omer, marked the lifting of the plague, and is associated with a temporary lifting of the somber mood normally connected with the omer. 

However, the mystic Jews who followed the spiritually-focused Kabbalah have a unique way of observing the omer, one that has added incredible richness to my annual post-Passover journey and that could potentially add meaning to your own omer counting as well.

The Kabbalists’ counting of the omer is rooted in the fundamental attributes of God called the sefirot.  Each of the seven weeks of the omer is associated with one of the lower seven sefirot as laid out in the Zohar, the text that forms the foundation of Kabbalah.

The idea is that since humans are created in God’s image (b’tzelem Elohim), spending each week of the omer focusing on a different aspect of God is also an opportunity to focus on different aspects of ourselves.  The counting of the omer is thus transformed into a spiritual journey during which we have the rare opportunity to take stock of the sometimes conflicting aspects of ourselves that govern how we react to difficult situations, make tough decisions, and interact with other people.

So without further adieu, here are the seven lower sefirot that are associated with the seven weeks of the omer.

The first two sefirot for the omer are polar opposites of each other, followed by the third which is the balance of the first two extremes:

1. Chesed: Overflowing loving kindness, power of vision.  Chesed is manifested when you give someone who cuts you off on the freeway the benefit of the doubt and do not feel angry.
2. Gevurah: Strength, judgment, justice, determination, power of intention.  Gevurah is manifested when enforcing grading rubrics and other rules.
3. Tiferet: Balance, beauty, compassion, radiance.  Tiferet is the perfect balance between chesed and gevurah.

Similarly, the fourth and fifth sefirot are on opposing ends of a spectrum, followed by equilibrium:

4. Netzach: Victory, endurance, persistence, efficiency, the power to change the world for the better.  Netzach is the overriding feeling at a powerful student rally to stop the genocide in Sudan.
5. Hod: Splendor, glory, being completely open to and at peace with the world exactly the way it is right now.  Hod is recognizing and loving the beauty in an average sunset.
6. Yesod: Foundation, intimacy.  Yesod is the perfect balance between netzach and hod.

The final sefirah (singular for sefirot) is the precursor to the revelation of the Torah at Mount Sinai, which we celebrate on Shavuot:

7. Malchut: Rulership, the presence of God on Earth.

There are many ways to incorporate the sefirot of the omer into your daily routine between Passover and Shavuot.  Here are a couple of suggestions:

• Write the name and description of the week’s sefirah on a sticky note and place it somewhere you will regularly notice it. Each time you see the sticky note, ask yourself how the week’s concept relates to what is on your mind at that moment.

• Set aside 15 minutes on Friday afternoon to sit in a quiet place, close your eyes, and meditate on the week’s sefirah.  Reflect by asking questions like:
 o How does this week’s sefirah manifest itself in my everyday thoughts and interactions?
 o To what extent do I feel connected to this aspect of myself?
 o What would change if I cultivated more or less of this aspect in myself?

Counting the omer in this spiritual way is not designed to inflict guilt about how we are; the truth is that we all own the different aspects of the sefirot to varying degrees, which is natural and good!  The point is to recognize the various factors that play into our behaviors and thoughts, and to use those realizations to be more whole, integrated people.

One of the themes of the sefirot of the omer is that exploring extremes is a precursor to exploring balance.  The wisdom in this practice implies that in order to achieve balance and wholeness in our lives, we must first know what it is like to encounter the far reaches of the spectrum.  A day where nothing seems to go according to plan is on one end of the scale and can actually function as the jumping-off point for a more centered day in the future.

The spiritual searching that can occur between Passover and Shavuot is an analog for the exploring that the Jewish people did between leaving Egypt and receiving the Torah at Mount Sinai.  By focusing on the various dimensions of ourselves through the sefirot of the omer, we can recreate the searching that happened so long ago as the Jewish people wandered in the desert and continue to feel as though we personally came out of Egypt.

May the season of the omer bring greater self-knowledge and awareness to each of us.

Prepared by Neil Spears

My absolute favorite part of the Haggadah is the four children.  I could spend all night just talking about it, looking at the different depictions of the four (Noam Zion’s A Different Night has a wonderful collection, many of which you can find online), thinking about the roles each of us takes on in relation to the Passover story.  

There are so many different interpretations about the four sons.  For example, the 19th-century Sefat Emet (R. Yehuida Leb Alter of Ger) taught that the four sons represent four stages of redemption. The Lubavitcher rebbe taught that the four children represent four successive generations of American immigrants; the one we really need to be concerned about is the fifth son, who is not even at our table.  Some kabbalistic interpretations reverse the hierarchy, claiming that the son who does not know how to ask a question is actually spiritually closest to God, as his yearning for closeness to divinity exceeds the boundaries of language.

This year I am spending a little more time thinking through the interpretation of Rabbi Shimon ben Tzemach Duran (AKA Rashbatz), a 14th century sage from Majorca.  He uses the little piece of liturgy just prior (Baruch HaMakom, in which we acknowledge and bless God) as a lens for viewing the four children text:

The Haggadah text is about to continue with the interpretation of various Biblical verses relating to the obligation to tell the story of the exodus.  This verse (Baruch HaMakom) serves as a blessing prior to study Torah. …  The four children about whom the Haggadah speaks are all dealing with the same question: whether the world is controlled by one God or by two separate forces – one for good and one for evil.  The wise child knows that God created everything and guides the world with benevolent providence.  The wicked child believes there are two competing forces in the world.  The naïve child asks: What is this?  Why do we have a righteous person who suffers and a wicked person who prospers?  This is a question for which he has no answer.  The child unable to ask believes that everything in the world is random, so that no questions on the subject of God’s power are relevant.

I find it interesting that Rashbatz is willing to completely ignore the context of the Passover Seder in order to focus on an existential question.  This is itself an important teaching: we cannot expect our Seder attendees to have the themes of Passover on their minds when they sit down with us.  More often, they are still bringing a bit of the world they have been experiencing with them to the table.  

The Seder may provide them with an opportunity to reflect on life’s meaning in general.  Not everyone will be able to relate and find a redemptive, Exodus-type moment at the beginning.

If we take a closer look, we see that Rashbatz pays homage to the traditional notion of an ordered, God-centered universe by locating this belief with the wise son, and identifies the wicked son with the relatively archaic heretical belief in two powers.  But Rashbatz does not discount the opinions of the last sons.  

It is entirely appropriate to come to the frustrating answers of God’s powerlessness or absence in the world.  Embedded in the rubric of the four children is the understanding that the question of each is appropriate, even necessary as a part of the whole, and that we should feel empowered to voice these questions, recognize them, and attempt to address them with understanding.  

So too with faith development - each of us will go through different stages in being able to answer life’s big questions, such as “Where is God in the universe?”  The least that we can do (and sometimes the most) is to recognize where someone is at and attempt to be present to their experience and the way they create meaning.  

Written by Rabbi Josh Snyder

Think about the word "ritual." What comes to mind?

Now think about the word "play." Same question.

I recently asked our staff to do this exercise and to jot down words or images that they associated with both words. When we thought of ritual, we generally thought of words like "structure," "rules," "religion." Play brought to mind "children," "games," and "laughter," but also "boundaries" and "structure."

Ritual and play are related. In order to play, one has to have a sense of structure. Yet to be playful, you can't become bogged down in the structure.

This wonderful creative tension between ritual and play is central to the seder and to Passover.

The seder is, of course, our most child-centered event. We have the Four Questions of the seder, which are meant to be asked by a child, and the four types of children who receive responses appropriate to them. We have the game of hide-and-seek with the afikomen, in which children look for the missing matzah and can in fact hold up the conclusion of the seder until they give it back (this makes for some good negotiating). We have special songs and special foods, both of which are intended to make the night different and provoke a child's curiosity.

Yet as you think about the seder, do you think of it as more playful, or more ritualistic? Hopefully your answer is both. The seder cannot help but be a ritual--it is called a seder, meaning 'order.' It establishes a rhythm, a structure. And yet the seder is undeniably playful--both in the way that literally encourages play, and in the way that its structure is elastic and malleable.

This malleability, this play, is woven into the structure of the seder itself on a number of levels. First there is the level we described above, of the play of children. But on a more adult level, there is the play involved in re-enacting the drama of the Exodus from Egypt: "In every generation one is obligated to see oneself as if s/he personally left Egypt," says Rabban Gamliel. We are meant to act out the drama--to put on a play. This kind of play, in which we interact with the historical narrative, stems from the same root as the play of children, and it involves mediating our story with that of our ancestors. On yet another level, play is central to the seder in the instruction to create our own midrash on the verses from Deuteronomy 26 which being "My ancestor was a wandering Aramean." Here the play involved is a play of intertextuality--playing with multiple texts and finding the ways they comment and reflect on one another.

In each of these ways, the play of the seder is an expression of a particular kind of freedom: not an unbounded freedom to do anything, anywhere, at anytime with anyone, but a freedom to be masters of our own destiny, in dialogue and partnership with our Creator, our sacred texts, and the Jewish people past, present and future. To be truly playful, the seder reminds us, one must have a context, a sense of boundaries, within which we can find ourselves.

At the seder, we are invited to rediscover our playfulness. We are invited to be scholars, playing with the texts of our tradition. We are invited to be actors, to act out the play of our people's ancient yet ongoing liberation. And we are invited to be children, to rediscover that playful sense of awe and wonder that inspires us to marvel at the world and the blessing of our existence in it. 

So have a playful and happy Passover!

Prepared by Rabbi Josh Feigelson

Now that the Passover sedarim have concluded, we’ve already had our fill of matzah, we long for shots of single malt instead of Manishewitz and the dishes are finally done, it’s time to kick back, enjoy the rest of the holiday, and consider a theme which is at the center of our Jewish calendar. 

When Purim arrives, many a Jewish household develops a deep anxiety over the next impending holiday – Pesah. “If Purim is here, that means Pesah is just about a month away.” Truth be told, if we were to look carefully at the calendar, Passover is not a month after Purim, rather, Purim comes eleven months after Passover. 

When counting months in the Jewish calendar, contrary to our instincts, the first of the months is not Tishrei, host to Rosh HaShanah (the official New Year), but Nissan – the month in which we are currently immersed. If the first of Tishrei is the first day of the year, why isn’t Tishrei counted as the first month? 

Tishrei commemorates the creation – the birthday of the world, if you will. The exodus from Egypt, which occurs in Nissan and culminates with receipt of Torah at Mt. Sinai (Shavuot), represents the birth of the Jewish people. Prior to the exodus, prior to Torah – to a legal system which includes modes of moral and ethical behavior – we were a tribe. By exiting Egypt and accepting Torah at Sinai, we became a people. 

The word for Egypt in Hebrew is Mitzrayim. The word tzar, which is found in the word Mitzrayim, means “narrow.” We left the physical and spiritual narrowness of Egypt when we crossed the Sea of Reeds. If we look at the word Mitzrayim a bit differently, as 
M tzr AYIM we come up with an interesting image. The word tzar – narrow - is surrounded by Hebrew letters spelling the word mayim – water. 

Think of a birth – the exit from a narrow place surrounded by water. The birth of the Jewish people, the exodus from Mitzrayim, is akin to the birth of a child. This may be one reason Nissan is considered to be the first of the months in the Jewish calendar. 

If we use this as our premise, Purim comes approximately eleven months later. Why is this important? The central figure in the Passover story, Moses, merits, at best, one passing reference in the central text of Passover, the Haggadah. Our sages teach that Moses is intentionally marginalized in order to avoid any deification and to suggest that ultimately it is God who brought us out of Egypt, not Moses or any other human being. 

The central text in the Purim story is Megillat Esther – the Scroll of Esther. The Esther story is yet another chronicle of Jewish history and survival. Yet instead of humans being marginalized, in contrast to the Haggadah, there is no mention of God at all. 

Let’s now get back to the way we count our months. If Passover falls in month number one – and God is the central influence – what happens by the time we get to month number twelve – to Purim? God has completely disappeared! 

So it is with us. As time progresses, we have a tendency to become distant and separate ourselves from the impact of any major experience (think our birthright students!). Purim brings that separation into focus by occurring in month number twelve, highlighting the passage of another year. It is at the precise moment - when God becomes irrelevant - that Passover comes around to bring God back into our consciousness and back into the lives of the Jewish people. 

Shabbat Shalom - Hag Samayah! 

Written by Rich Moline

As the end of winter blends slowly into spring and the trees and flowers begin to bloom anew, Jews around the globe begin to prepare for the holiday of Pesach, Passover. One of, if not the, most celebrated Jewish festivals on the calendar, Passover is a time when families come together to recount the story of the exodus from Egypt. The name Passover encourages Jews to remember the biblical story where God literally "passed over" the homes of the children of Israel during the 10th plague, the killing of the first-born male children of Egypt. But to think of the holiday of Passover simply as a time to remember a historical event or a biblical story would be to limit the power and depth of the eight days during the Hebrew month of Nisan when the holiday is celebrated.

For the Sefat Emet, an early 20th-century Chassidic rabbi, the holiday of Passover is very much a living, breathing holiday. The Sefat Emet compares Passover to Shabbat, suggesting that just as God commands the Jewish people to both remember and guard the Shabbat, He also commands the Jewish people to do the same with regard to Passover: "Memory is the inner point (the divine presence) that one should not forget and because Shabbat revealed this point in the souls of the children of Israel therefore one needs to be guarded so that the inner point does not spread to a place of forgetfulness…this is also the idea in the redemption of the Jews in Egypt." For the Sefat Emet, Passover is one of the generators of memory, along with Shabbat, through which Jews understand or realize the existence of "Godliness" in themselves. The question then becomes, what specific memory from Passover generates this realization? Which memory must we guard and remember? 

As a child I remember the intense nerves I would experience as I got ready to participate in my family Seder. For a few years I was the only child in my family who was old enough and knew enough Hebrew to sing the four questions. After the nerves subsided and I got through the questions, my grandfather, Irwin Posner of blessed memory, would bellow the same answer the same way my great-grandfather answered the question a generation earlier. I can still hear the booming Brooklyn-esque voice declare, "And the answer to that is…" before reading the following answer aloud from the Maggid (which, in Hebrew, means "to tell") section of the Haggadah: 

"We were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt, but Hashem our God took us out from there with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm. Had not the Holy One, Blessed is He, taken our fathers out from Egypt, then we, our children, and our children's children would have remained enslaved to Pharaoh in Egypt. Even if we were all men of wisdom, understanding, experience, and knowledge of the Torah, it would still be an obligation upon us to tell about the Exodus from Egypt. The more one tells about the Exodus, the more he is praiseworthy." 

The Haggadah and the voices of generations before us answer the question of what memory helps generate the knowledge of "Godliness" of which the Sefat Emet speaks. That memory is the memory that we, the Jewish people, were enslaved. The story of Exodus, the first response to the four questions of the Haggadah, and the memory that sparks our recognition of our "inner point" is first and foremost about being enslaved and then the ensuing march toward freedom.

Memory, of course is an interesting thing. The memory itself exists in a time and space that does not exist in the present, but rather in the past. You can not affect it, but it can affect you. Later in the Maggid section of the Haggadah we read that we are supposed to see ourselves as if we were actually slaves in Egypt. The question now becomes, what effect should the memory of the Exodus of Egypt have on us as we prepare to celebrate Passover? How can we actually see ourselves as slaves in Egypt?

The sad truth is that it might not be as hard as we think. Clarence Darrow, one of America's most famous civil libertarians, said, "You can only protect your liberties in this world by protecting the other man's freedom. You can only be free if I am free." Unfortunately, in our world today, many people are still stuck in bondage with the prospects of freedom nowhere in sight.

Rabbi Irving Greenberg, in his book "The Jewish Way: Living the Holidays," notes that the truth is that the "overwhelming majority of earth's human beings have always lived in poverty and under oppression." However, Rabbi Greenberg insists that Judaism and, in particular, the holiday of Passover enforce the notion that eventually justice will prevail. He writes, "Judaism insists that history and the social economic political reality in which people live will eventually be perfected; much of what passes for the norm of human existence is really a deviation from the ultimate reality." While this certainly is one of the potential messages of the holiday of Passover, it still leaves us in a bind. Now not only are we still enslaved on some level (according to Darrow and Greenberg), but we have failed to understand how to guard and remember Passover in an active way as the Sefat Emet suggests we need to.

I was fortunate enough that when my grandfather recited the paragraph of "We were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt…" he was not simply saying words; he was passing along a legacy of action. Whether it was attending forums during the civil-rights movement with my grandmother in support of the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., and his fight for equal rights, taking his entire family to Washington to protest the Vietnam War, the hours he spent working on the Soviet Jewry movement, or simply the time and energy he put into making his community a better place for all, my grandfather modeled for me what it meant to truly "see myself as if I were a slave in Egypt." For my grandfather, he knew he could not truly be free if others were still enslaved.

There are many things worth fighting for in the world. Perhaps your cause is ending the genocide in the Darfur region of Sudan. Or maybe you cannot believe how many people around the world live in poverty or do not have access to adequate health care. Perhaps the "enslavement" of people in sweatshops or the indentured servitude of many who pick and grow coffee in Latin America is what you are passionate about. What the Sefat Emet, Clarence Darrow and my grandfather have taught me is that only way to truly celebrate the holiday of Passover is if we understand that we must be bringers of our own redemption and that of others, and we must stand up for what we believe and take action so that next year everyone will truly be free.

Prepared by Reuben Posner

There are many lessons to be learned from Pesach. Among other things, it teaches us about the nature of freedom in its myriad forms, about the need to clean the chametz (leavened products), both physical and spiritual, from our lives on a regular basis and about the transformation of individuals into a collective nation. This week's portion adds another level to our understanding of the holiday. This is the portion read traditionally on the seventh day of Pesach, on the yom tov (holiday day) at the end of the festival, which this year falls on Shabbat. This portion tells the story of the Jewish people's escape from Egypt and culminates with the dramatic story of the splitting of the Red Sea, as God drowns the Egyptians in the waves and Moses leads the people through a terrifying and redemptive experience that, literally and symbolically, brings them through adversity to the dry land and allows them to experience a kind of rebirth as a nation. (Shemot/Exodus 13:17-15:26)

What is the lesson of this story that can add to our overall understanding of the holiday? Let's concentrate on the main human players in this story. First of all, of course, there is Moses, the leader. Moses is the central, most powerful character in this story. He keeps his faith in God, even when it is being tested by the most difficult and threatening circumstances. He reassures the people that they will be saved from the Egyptians and gives them encouragement: "Have no fear! Stand by and witness the deliverance which the Eternal will work for you today." (Exodus 14:13) He is clearly empowered by God to do the actions that will lead to the splitting of the sea. And then, after the Israelites emerge onto dry land, he leads the people in a song of joy and celebration at their salvation. Moses' leadership is of a very obvious and important kind. He is a partner with God, a national leader, with a very public and significant role in the miracle.

Moses' sister, Miriam, is also a leader, albeit a different kind. The Torah describes that after the splitting of the sea, Miriam "picked up a hand-drum and all the women went out after her in dance with hand-drums." (Shemot/Exodus 15:20) Miriam leads the singing and dancing among the people. She emerges as a leader from within the people, and although she sings some of the same words as Moses, she adds instruments and dance and her expression of joy seems to be qualitatively different. It appears able to channel the emotions of the people, especially the women, and to carry them with her into a public expression of joy and celebration that is more primal and maybe even more ecstatic. She may have a less public role in the miracle itself, but without the outlet she provides for all the people afterward, the miracle might have remained an event tainted by trauma and fear rather than joy and celebration. 

The rabbis identify another human figure in the story, a character who does not appear in the text itself, but who is imagined in the Midrash. This is Nachshon ben Aminadav, a leader of the tribe of Judah, whom the rabbis imagine to be another kind of leader. Nachshon is the individual who takes the first step into the sea itself. According to the Midrash, he walks into the sea before it has receded, up to his neck, demonstrating complete faith that God will indeed split the waters. Nachshon is also a leader from within the people. He is the person whose example encourages the rest, those who were not convinced by Moses, that it would be safe to walk into the sea. Sometimes it takes a peer, someone closer to us, to lead us into the unknown when a more powerful leader cannot. Nachshon was the one who took the chance, who complemented the more dramatic leadership of Moses with a statement that made the difference and ultimately led to all the people walking through the sea, even though the situation appeared terrifying.

These three human figures - Moses, Miriam and Nachshon - teach us about the leadership that emerges in times of transition and upheaval. Pesach is the ultimate transition in the life of the Jewish people, a time of great excitement, stress and maybe even trauma, in our collective memory. At such a time the Jewish people relied on three people: Moses, who had a direct line to God, a very public role and a clear and demanding faith; Miriam, whose creative and emotional expression of joy added an important dimension to the experience; and Nachshon, whose position as "one of them" and demonstration of faith served to tip the balance allowing the people to, literally, take the plunge into an experience that would ultimately change the nature of the Jewish people forever.

As we extract the myriad lessons of Pesach this year, we can also think about how this leadership triad complemented each other and played a crucial role in the story, and how we can extend these different types of leadership into our Hillels, our university communities and the wider world.

Prepared by Clare Goldwater

From The Passover Haggadah

"We were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt, and the Lord our God brought us out from there with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm. And If the Holy One, blessed be He, had not brought our ancestors out of Egypt, we, and our children, and our children's children would still be slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt."

"In former days our ancestors worshipped idols, but now the All-Present has brought us to His service, as it is said: "And Joshua said to all the people: So says the Lord God of Israel, from the beginning your ancestors dwelled on the other side of the [Euphrates] river and they served other Gods (Joshua 24)."

Your Haggadah Navigator
The Talmud teaches that the Passover Seder celebrates our rise from a state of disgrace to a state of glory. The Haggadah offers the two passages quoted above as different perspectives on what is meant by "disgrace" and "glory".

1. In your mind, what is the greater disgrace, the physical servitude of slavery or the spiritual servitude of idolatry? Which is the greater rise to glory, being freed from slavery or coming to worship the one true God?
2. Can one be spiritually free while suffering physically? Can one be truly free if enslaved by false beliefs? Is service to God freedom, or another form of servitude?
3. What is the difference between using Passover to celebrate our freedom from Egypt and using it to celebrate our recruitment into the service of God?
4. The Maharal of Prague (Rabbi Judah Loew Ben Bezalel, 16th C.) sees the Passover Seder and its story of redemption as holding in it the promise of a future, and final, redemption. What is the nature of that future redemption as understood by each of our two passages? How would each define our current state of "slavery"? In your mind, are we currently "slaves" needing to be freed?

A Final Word
Two Fourth Century Babylonian Talmudists, Rav and Shmuel, argue over which of the two passages quoted above correctly identify our rise from disgrace to glory. Their argument has implications for how we understand our origins as a People. 

To describe the beginnings of our disgrace, the Haggadah quotes the confession made by the Priest in the days of the Temple when bringing the First Fruit to the alter: "Arami Oved Avi..." (Deuteronomy 26:5). As understood by one of these Talmudists, this is to be translated as "The Aramean [Laban] sought to destroy my father [Jacob]". As understood by the other it is to be translated as "A wandering Aramean [Abraham] was my father". To one, our identity as a People begins with our enemy's attempt to destroy us. To the other, we begin our Peoplehood with the quest for God and Godliness. Which reading of Jewish history seems to resonate more for the American Jewish community? Which do you find more compelling?

Prepared by Rabbi Howard Alpert

The last chapter of the Tractate of Pesachim describes the Seder rules from nearly 2000 years ago. Charoset is introduced as one of the items to be "brought forth, even though it is not considered a mitzvah." Rabbi Eliezer the son of Rabbi Tzadok disagrees, and declares it to be a mitzvah.

The Gemara, the Talmud's discussion of this Mishnah poses the following question:

If it's not a mitzvah, what are they bringing it for?

The Gemara answers: [For dipping] so that it neutralizes the poisonous effect (of the horse radish).

Then the Gemara asks what is the mitzvah of charoset? The Gemara gives answers that are familiar to many of us. Charoset symbolizes the mortar of the bricks we as slaves made in Egypt, hence its thickness. Charoset alludes to the verse in Song of Songs, "Under the apple tree I aroused you." The rabbis saw this as a metaphor that refers to the fact that the Israelite women gave birth without pain, and were thus able to hide their sons from the Egyptians.

There is a midrash that Rashi quotes which states the "mirrors of legions" which were donated for the "Mishkan" (the tabernacle) were used by our mothers, the Israelite women, to arouse their husbands when they returned to the fields so that a Jewish future could be built. Moshe did not want to accept the mirrors because of their association with desire, but God said these mirrors are the most dear to me, so you, Moses, are to accept them. Thus it is written, "Under the apple tree I aroused you."

Your Talmud Navigator

1. Everyone agrees that charoset should be part of the meal, but there is a disagreement on its status. If charoset is a mitzvah, why is there no blessing as there is for maror (bitter herbs)?

2. Why would charoset not be a mitzvah if we have perfectly good reasons for it to be included in the seder?

3. When Rabbi Eliiezer the son of Rabbi Tzadok said that charoset is a mitzvah, is he saying that it is a mitzvah from the Torah, or is it a rabbinic decree? If it's a rabbinic decree, why don't the rabbis know about it?

A Word

charoset, unlike Maror (bitter herbs) is not mentioned explicitly in the Torah. The fact that we made bricks is recounted in the Torah, and we are commanded to tell the story. Part of telling the story is making it real by having tangible symbols. The Torah not only gives us matzah and maror, but gives us guidelines for how to make every aspect of the meal symbolic. When Rabbi Eliezer Bar Tzadok calls charoset a mitzvah, he is signaling that irrespective of the original reason for having charoset, there is an opportunity to symbolize another aspect of the story. It is a mitzvah to take charoset and give it a kind of meaning that enriches the story of the haggadah. For anyone who tells more of the story is considered praiseworthy.

Charoset challenges us to continue to deepen our symbolic understanding in new and different ways as we make a story long past a part of our immediate present.

Prepared by Rabbi Avi Weinstein

Now that Passover seders are over, and we are eating matzah and are full of affliction -- one might ask, "What's a good Jewish professional to do during these days?" The answer? Count them. Count every last day until Shavuot -- 50 in all.

The period of "the omer" begins the second night of Passover and continues until Shavuot. Literally translated, omer means "a measure." It refers to the measure of grain that was once offered at the Temple in Jerusalem. The Torah commanded that seven weeks be counted for the omer. It says:

Leviticus 23:15-21 

15. From the day on which you bring the sheaf of elevation offering the day after the Sabbath you shall count off seven weeks. They must be complete. 
16. You must count until the day after the seventh week fifty days; then you shall bring an offering of new grain to YHWH.
17. You shall bring from your settlements two loaves of bread as an elevation offering… 
21. On that same day you shall hold a celebration; it shall be a sacred occasion for you; you shall not work at your occupations. This is a law for all time in all your settlements, throughout the ages.


Torah Navigator

1. Why was it important to count the days from the bringing of the omer until Shavuot?
2. Shavuot in the Bible was not connected with the giving of the Torah on Mt. Sinai, as it is now. It was an agricultural festival. And its focus was the Temple. Since the Temple no longer stands, and most of us are no longer involved in agriculture, what's the point of counting the omer today?
While there is no longer a Temple or an omer offering, the rabbis declared that we should still count the days between Passover and Shavuot. Rambam even said that the commandment for us to count today comes directly from Torah!

Kabbalists saw the omer period as a preparation for receiving the Torah on Mt. Sinai. Each day we must take one more step away from the impurities of Egypt that have remained within us. Today counting the omer can be a time of meditation where we can renew our spirits as we prepare for Shavuot. According to the mystics, each week of the seven is represented by a mystical aspect of the divine to focus on. And each day of the 49 is a combination of two aspects.

Associations with the Seven Sefirot of the Omer Period:

1.Che-sed: Overflowing Loving kindness
2.G'vu-rah: Judgment, Justice, Rigor
3.Tif-e-ret: Compassion, Beauty, Balance
4.Ne-tzach: Victory, Efficiency, Prevailing
5.Hod: Glory, Splendor
6.Y'sod: Foundation, Intimacy, Generativity
7.Mal-chut: Majesty, God's Earthly Realm

How to Focus Each day of the Omer:

On the first day of the counting, work on chesed within chesed (the purest love within yourself.)
Day two: g'vurah within chesed (the anger within our love).
And so forth.
On the second week, focus on g'vurah. Day Eight focus on chesed within g'vurah (the love inside judgement). And so on…
Thus goes the meditation.

A Word

The counting of the omer serves us as a link between Passover and Shavuot. It reminds us of the liberation we celebrated during Passover, and just how easy it is for us to slip back into slavery. Let each day of the 50 days bring us a moment of meditation, to work on our best selves and ready ourselves for receiving rules to live by (Torah) on Shavuot. May we learn how to make our lives easier, yet more meaningful as we celebrate in a small way each day, focusing on the important moments of life.
Happy counting!

Prepared by Rabbi Andrea Lerner

"On that night, the sleep of the king was disturbed and he said to bring the Book of Memories, the Chronicles of the Days, and that they should be read before the king. And it was found written that Mordechai had informed on Bigtan and Teresh, the two eunuchs of the king who had attempted to assassinate King Achashverosh. And the king said: 'What appreciation and grandeur has been Mordechai's for this?' And the young attendants of the king said: 'Nothing was done for him.' "    Scroll of Esther 6:1-3

Before we had kids, I used to read my wife to sleep. I have a soothing voice and it was a nice way to unwind together at the end of a long day. Inevitably, she used to fall asleep before the end of the chapter. At first, I would continue reading aloud until the end and then put it down. Then, I stopped reading aloud once I could tell that she was asleep. Finally, I started to cheat and read ahead.  Pretty soon, I was done with Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban and she still didn't even know about the Marauder's map.

When King Achashverosh couldn't sleep, he also called for a bed-time story, the Book of Memories. Presumably, this was propaganda about the bravery and valor of the king or perhaps a deathly boring account of the kingdom's goings-on, kind of like reading the Congressional Record. Either way, the hope was that it would soothe the poor king back to sleep. This is the way that Rashi  (R. Shlomo Yitzchaki, 11th c. France) first interprets the story.

But Rashi also brings a second explanation for why the king can't sleep. Imagine lying there in your bed, anxious and stiff as a board, sure that you had forgotten to do something that was of critical importance. Is there a major appointment tomorrow that I forgot to put in my iPhone? Did I leave the sprinklers on? Did I forget to pick up the kids at school? What was that proof of the Pythagorean theorem? Sometimes, you can't get back to sleep until you figure out what's eating at you. Perhaps this is why Achashverosh's sleep is disturbed. The muddled monarch knew that he had forgotten something really important, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.

What was it that the king had forgotten?

According to Rashi, the king felt sure that he had forgotten to thank someone. But he couldn't quite put his finger on who. Or why. So the king called for the Book of Memories. According to one interpretation (Malbim), the Book of Memories was an independent private account of important things for the king to remember. Thus, it was more than good bed-time reading; it was the perfect trigger for a king who was sure he had forgotten something. Lo and behold, the king finds out that Mordechai had saved his life many years ago and never been properly honored or thanked. The reason that the king has 'forgotten' this is because Haman had falsified the public record, replacing Mordechai's name with… his own! Nor is this some insignificant detail, for it is this act of falsified heroism that earned Haman his stripes on his steep political climb to second-in-command of the Persian Empire!

At that very moment (or so the Megilla makes it seem) Haman is on his way over to the king's palace. It seems that he also can't sleep, because he has been scheming about how to get royal permission to hang Mordechai on the private gallows he has erected in his backyard. (What kind of a guy has a private gallows?!) Also, hiding in the back of the king's mind is that the only other person besides the king that the queen has invited to her two special feasts is Haman. Is Haman friend or foe?…

When Haman arrives, the king asks a leading question: how would you honor someone who the king thinks is very special? Once again, Haman inserts his name instead of Mordechai's and betrays his true intentions: to be the king! He suggests:

"For a man whom the king desires to show his worth: let the royal clothes be brought (those which the king wears!) and a horse that the king rides upon and upon which the crown of kingship is placed upon his head. And let a man from the Presidential Guard be given the clothes and the horse and let him dress the man who the king desires to show his worth with the clothes and ride him on the horse through the streets of the city…."

The king humbles Haman – of whom he has now become suspicious -- by instructing him to do exactly this to his arch-nemesis Mordechai. In doing so, he also gives Mordechai his long-overdue reward for saving the king's life.

The sleeplessness of the king is a turning point, one in which many disparate elements of the Purim story suddenly cascade together. It may even be the central (hidden) miracle of the holiday. After all, who was it that whispered to the king to wake him up if not God and His angels? In the words of Rashi (to the Talmud, Megillah 15b):

"the angels were frightening him all night, saying to him (accusingly) 'You 
are an ingrate! Pay back the good that has been done to you!' "

According to this, the message of the angels to the king – and to us – is that lack of gratitude is something to lose sleep over. We should show appreciation, honor and friendship to those who show it to us. We should send them gifts, say packages of fine food and drink (mishloach manot) and invite them to lavish meals at our homes (the Purim feast.)

Let me add one final observation:
The name of God is not mentioned in the Megillah, not even once. But there is an ancient tradition that says that whenever "the King" is mentioned (as opposed to "the king Achashverosh") it can be read as a hidden reference to the King of Kings. (The tradition makes no mention of Elvis) Thus, when the Megillah says "the king's sleep was disturbed," the Talmud suggests "it was the sleep of the King of the Universe that was disturbed."

Even though there is no real sleeplessness or forgetfulness before God, God too was restless on this night. He had hidden His face from His people, allowing the wicked Haman to bring them to the brink of destruction, but now the time had come to 'wake up' and redeem them.

Let me humbly suggest that this too was an act of gratitude. The accusing angels could point to Mordechai, a righteous believer who put his own life and those of his people in jeopardy for the sake of his beliefs. They could point to Esther, who had submitted to the indignity of being a madman's queen and risked her life in order to rescue her people. They could point to the Jewish people, who fasted three days and turned their eyes up to their father in Heaven. They could say to God 'How can you not re-pay the righteousness of this people in this time of their suffering?'

In conclusion, then, the restlessness of the king's sleep – whether God or, l'havdil (mutatis mutandis), flesh and blood – is a restlessness born out of a need to acknowledge gratitude and to re-pay it.  This Purim holiday, let us not forget to thank God for all that She has given to us and let us be confident that He will not overlook the kindnesses we have done for Her/Him.

Happy Purim!

Written by Rabbi Avi Heller

I majored in linguistics back in college.  Along with my fellow language geeks, I spent hours poring over texts on transformational grammar and listening to field tapes with different North American English accents.  While it was exceedingly difficult to find a job after graduation, the upshot of this course of study was a strong appreciation for and heightened awareness of language that I continue to hold dear.

Which brings me, indirectly, to Purim.  For certain Jewish events, items and relationships, we almost always use the Hebrew term and rarely, if ever, its non-Hebrew counterpart.  Purim falls in this category.  Granted, the average Hebrew school student knows (even if the average Jewish adult doesn't) that "Purim" is translated into English as "lots."  All the same, I can't say I can recall anyone casually saying, "Gee, I'm so excited about the Festival of Lots!  I'm going to dress up as Queen Esther!” Instead, we’re consistently excited about and dressing up for Purim.  In this way, Purim is a whole lot like tefillin and tallit.  (Seriously, who puts on a set of "phylacteries" or a "prayer shawl"?  And a mohel is a mohel, never a "ritual circumciser.")

In other cases, many of us gravitate toward using the English (or, for some, the French or Spanish or Russian equivalent).  We're more likely to be familiar with a "eulogy" than a hesped.  While issuing or receiving a getmay be a recognizable phrase, it's usually more common to refer to a couple as "getting divorced."  As much as the Hebrew words are heard in some settings, English feels more natural for most North American Jews.

Of course, English and Hebrew aren't binary, dichotomous categories in constant opposition to each other.  Words like "kosher" have migrated over into English, giving them a foot in both worlds.  People may refer interchangeably to Pesach and Passover, or the Tanakh and the Bible.  In these latter cases, choosing one language over the other can convey a particular perspective; there is a world of difference between "delivering a d'var Torah" and "preaching a sermon."

On top of this, there are subtleties within each language.  At the end of the week, we can observe sha-BAHT or SHAH-bos (or even "the Sabbath").  English phrases can have meanings that transcend the literal; "nine days" may be just a little more than a week, but "the Nine Days" is a summer period of intense traditional Jewish mourning over the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem.  Throw in Yiddish, Ladino and other Jewish languages, and the situation can become even more complicated.

The complexities of language illustrate the broader issue of Jewish identity in North America.  There are times when we focus more on the Jewish dimensions of who we are, like when we're attending Yom Kippur services, signing up for a Taglit-Birthright Israel trip or advancing the cause of social justice.  At other times, we may identify primarily with the largely non-Jewish society that surrounds and is a part of us; we vote in elections, we celebrate Thanksgiving (either Canadian- or American-style), and we pay our taxes.

For most of our lives, however, we seek to balance and integrate the Jewish and Diaspora/secular aspects of who we are.  Participating in anAlternative Spring Break is one way that some may choose to "do Jewish" while also being in dialogue with humanity as a whole, as is sharing thoughts in an interfaith discussion.  Even when we travel to Israel or support a domestic political candidate, we do so with our Jewish and Diaspora experiences in mind.  In short, being Jewish and being American (or Canadian or Brazilian or Russian) isn't an "either/or" question; it's a "both" answer to a deeper ongoing existential inquiry, and a matter of understanding life as more distinctively Jewish or more universally human in any given moment.

Embracing the Jewish and the non-Jewish simultaneously isn't always fun or easy.  Many of us regularly face the dilemma of whether to take time off from work or school for Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur or other holidays, and the discussion over assimilation and continuity perpetually presents itself in uncomfortable ways.  Even so, our ability to be culturally bilingual (or trilingual or beyond, depending on the situation) brings with it the potential to act with our whole selves, Jewish and otherwise.

With this in mind, enjoy celebrating this week's Festival of Lots.  Eat your fill of Haman's Pockets (hamentashen), recite the Blessing of “Who Has Kept Us Alive” (Birkat Shehecheyanu) and get set for the Sabbath of the Red Heifer (Shabbat Parah) this weekend.  Most importantly, I hope you – in all the Jewish, secular, American/Canadian and other aspects of who you are – have a wonderful holiday.

And watch your language.
 
Chag Purim Sameach.

Prepared by Rabbi Seth Goren

The forthcoming festival of Purim, the celebration of our rescue from the evil decree of a non-Jewish leader (a theme that is repeated in Jewish history throughout the ages) is of particular significance to the Jewish people both in terms of national memory and spirituality. Contrary to how it is celebrated in many places today, Purim is a festival of profound depth and importance. There is, in fact, a Talmudic idea that in Messianic times, all the festivals will be done away with, except Purim. In this vein, the sages refer to Yom Kippur as Yom Ke'Purim (the day that is like Purim).

Torah Navigator

How does the section of Zachor (Remember) (which we read this past Shabbat) impact on our forthcoming Purim celebration?

There is a particularly interesting verse from Zachor associated with this memory.

In Devarim (Deuteronomy) Ch. 25 we read:

v. 17: "Remember what Amalek did to you along the way when you were leaving Egypt."
v. 18: "that he came upon (heb: karcha, ambushed) you along the way, and struck the stragglers at the back..."

This verse is interesting because it alludes to the inner and cosmic significance of Purim. Understanding it gives us insight into how our actions as a nation (and as individuals) affect our existence.

The great commentator Rashi, explains that the word karcha in the Torah portion, comes from the root kar or cold. So we could say that Amalek attacked us, as we became cold in the desert.

A Word

Many of us have allowed Amalek to ambush us by becoming cold to Judaism. We have empowered the internal Amalek and thus ambushed ourselves. Our practice has often become rote and we are found lacking in commitment, meaning or passion. We have thus failed to impart the spirituality, faith and values of Judaism to others.

Why did the Jews of Persia fast? Why do Jews fast? They knew that the decree that was upon them was because they had done something to cause it. In their case, the Rabbis tell us, amongst other things, they had taken on the values and behaviors of the society around them - values contrary to Jewish values - epitomized by the debauchery and immorality of King Achashverosh and his wife Vashti and all those around them.

Similarly, we become cool to our identity and obligations as Jews and thus we remain in a state of turmoil. So we fast on the day before Purim in order to temporarily shed the physical impediments to introspection and repentance and thereby achieve catharsis and a higher awareness.

Yom Kippur is a time when we divest ourselves of the physical in order to bring ourselves toward perfection. This fasting is intended to bring change in ourselves - but it is not intended to be the way we function on an ongoing basis. However, our Torah does not require us to live in a state divorced from the physical. On the contrary, we are required to aspire to holiness through the physical. We sanctify our meals, our homes, our bodies and our sexuality. Purim - whose major requirements are of feasting (a seudat mitzvah), giving our friends food gifts, taking care of the poor, prayer and listening to the reading of the Megillah of Esther, (and of fasting beforehand) - is an ideal blend of the physical and spiritual and is more in keeping with the overall Torah approach of sanctifying the physical. Purim's holy festivity is ultimately superior to Yom Kippur's asceticism.

It is the responsibility of the Jewish people to guide the world to perfection. Just as the Jews of Persia had cooled to the Jewish mission (and hence the decree), so have we. Therefore, just as the Jews of Persia did, we fast the day before Purim in order to return ourselves to our higher purpose. And, just as they did, we feast thereafter in celebration of their/our redemption.

Prepared by Rabbi Ian J. Azizollahoff

“Min ha-meitzar, karati Yah, anani ba-merchav Yah. Out of the narrows of distress I called upon God, God answered me with liberation (Psalm 118:5).”

With these words we introduce the blowing of the shofar on Rosh Hashanah. Hearing the shofar is the only mitzvah, precept, we have on Rosh Hashanah. Shofar is the essence and symbol of the holiday.

With these same words we cast our sins metaphorically into fresh waters during Tashlich, one of our most esoteric and forgotten rituals. After understanding the meaning of this verse, and the Tashlich ceremony, a beautiful way to unlock the spiritual mission of Rosh Hashanah is revealed.

In the Me’am Loaz, 18th century Ladino-Turkish commentary, it is written that this verse recounts the occasion of King David’s deliverance: “Out of a narrow place, where I found myself standing, with no way to turn, right or left — from the depths of my despair —I called upon God for deliverance…. God took me out into a broad expanse. Just as King David did not despair of redemption, we are not to give up hope even in the midst of the most terrible distress of exile….”

The Hebrew word tashlich means “you shall cast away.” The entire custom is based on Micah (7:19) “And You shall cast all their sins into the depths of the sea.” Tashlich is performed in the afternoon on the first day of Rosh Hashanah (except on years when the first day is Shabbat, and the custom is moved to Sunday). Some recite Tashlich on the eighth day of Tishrei, and it can even be recited until Hoshanah Rabba, which is, according to real Kabbalah, the last opportunity for repentance.

Tashlich is preferably recited near running waters that sustain life. Praying by a body of water reminds us of Creation and its purpose. Water is a sign of humility, as it says in Lamentations, “pour out your heart like water before the face of God.” Our insecurities and weaknesses, which were blocking our growth, can be washed away like water and disappear. The Shechinah, the indwelling presence of God, symbol of purity, mikvah, is strong near water. We pray by water as we seek to purify ourselves and seek the presence of the Shechinah in our lives.

The verses that make up the main prayers of Tashlich have special kabbalistic meanings and are taken from Micah, Psalms, and Isaiah. They correspond to attributes of God mentioned in the Torah, such as “God is slow to anger, great in love, and forgiving sin and rebellion….The Earth shall be filled with the knowledge of God, as water covers the sea.” After shaking out our garments and pockets, casting crumbs in the waters, many have a custom to recite a prayer for parnasa, to make an honest living.

Ashkenazi and Sephardic Jews observe Tashlich, though there is no direct reference of it in the Talmud or early rabbinic writings. Even the16th century codex of Jewish law, the Shulchan Aruch, barely mentions it. Tashlich seems to be an invention to help Jews complete their spiritual mission on Rosh Hashanah.

The spiritual mission of Rosh Hashanah emanating from the sound of the Shofar is strong, penetrating, yet ultimately wordless. The Shofar is a primal, genetic call. However, as the distance from the Shofar blasts accompanying the giving of the Torah grew, the message of the shofar needed to be deciphered. That is why Tashlich was created.

Tashlich does not have more potential or reach spiritually higher than the shofar. Tashlich translates the meaning of the call of the shofar into terms and prayers that we can fathom. That is why the Shofar and Tashlich use the same verse, “From the narrows…liberation.” And what are we saying?

God, I am really stuck here, in this rut, these habits, bad relationships, unhealthy modes of thinking, in dead-end jobs. I am broke — financially and spiritually — and I ask you from the depth of this despair, can you help? Can you offer me a hand, God?

As we stand by living water, in the presence of the Shechinah, we pour out our hearts like water, the barriers to spiritual and personal growth are washed away, and we hear the voice of King David echoing throughout Jewish and personal history, from Egypt till the Crusades, from Babylon to the Holocaust, from enlightenment to assimilation — I will not give up on you Jewish people, don’t give up on Me. Here, take my hand.

“Out of the narrows of distress I called upon God, God answered me with liberation.”

Written by Rabbi Yonah Bookstein, campus rabbi of Beach Hillel and Hillel Foundation of Orange County

Rosh Hashanah is cryptically described in the Torah as follows:
"...In the seventh month on the first day of the month, you shall observe complete rest, a sacred occasion remembering the loud blasts." (Leviticus 23:24)

Your Torah Navigator
"...a sacred occasion remembering the loud blasts." What does this sacred occasion commemorate?

Midrash Vayikra Rabba 29:12
Rabbi Yochanan and Resh Lakish were sitting around challenging each other saying, "When the first day of Rosh Hashanah falls on Shabbat, in the Temple they would blow the shofar, but not anywhere else. If it's [shofar blowing] a commandment from the Torah, one should blow the shofar everywhere on Shabbat, and if it isn't a commandment from the Torah, they shouldn't even be allowed to blow it in the Temple!"

While they were struggling with this issue, Rav Kahane came by. They said, a man of learning and tradition has come, let's go ask him. So they did.

He answered them:
One verse says, "remembering the loud blasts" and another verse says "a day when the horn is sounded." (Numbers 29:1)

How are these verses consistent with each other? When Rosh Hashanah occurs on Shabbat we remember the loud blasts, but we do not actually make the sounds. [When it doesn't fall on Shabbat, we do make the sounds.]

Your Midrash Navigator
1. Does Rav Kahane think that blowing the shofar on Rosh Hashanah is a mitzvah from the Torah?
2. Why, according to him, does the mitzvah not apply on Shabbat?
3. What requires more of you, blowing the shofar or the memory of blowing it?

A Word
Rav Kahane cleverly solves the problem by saying that both blowing and not blowing fulfill different verses of the Torah. He adduces that "remembering the loud blasts" is referring to the fact that we do not blow the shofar on Shabbat, but does not answer why we would blow the shofar on Shabbat in the Temple. The Talmud answers that it was permissible to blow the shofar on Shabbat everywhere, but the rabbis made a decree that one should not do so, lest someone carry a shofar in the public domain in order to learn how to blow it. (Rosh Hashanah 29b)

Nevertheless, Rav Kahane is onto something. It is bizarre that a day that is defined by sound should ever be celebrated with silence. How is one to understand this if it is not alluded to in the Torah?

It is as if Rav Kahane wants to say there will be times when re-enactment is appropriate and there are times when you will have only memory. You will remember the sound without actually hearing the sound. Instead you will focus on the sound by being acutely aware of its absence. It will be through the force of your mind alone that God will be removed from the throne of judgment to the throne of mercy. It will be through your concentration alone and not through the intermediary of the shofar. This Shabbat, for those who do not hear the shofar, our memory has to be enough, for it is our minds and hearts that truly have to do the work.

Prepared by Rabbi Avi Weinstein

After the "Akeda", the Binding of Isaac and his near sacrifice, an angel of the Holy One called to Abraham a second time and gives the following promise:

Genesis 22

15. And the angel of the Lord called to Abraham from heaven the second time,
16. And said, By myself have I sworn, said the Lord, for because you have done this thing, and have not withheld your son, your only son;
17. That in blessing I will bless you, and in multiplying I will multiply your seed as the stars of the heaven, and as the sand which is upon the sea shore; and your seed shall possess the gate of his enemies;
18. And in your seed shall all the nations of the earth be blessed; because you have obeyed my voice.

Your Torah Navigator

Why are there two descriptions of Abraham's seed? Why are we both like "the stars of the heaven and the sand which is upon the sea?"

A Word

A Chasidic explanation says the following. Each person is born with two pockets. One says I am like the stars in the heaven and the world was created for me. The other says I am lowly as the sand upon the sea, and I am like the dust of the earth. If one feels full and proud, that person should look into the pocket of dust and be reminded of humility. If one is feeling lowly then one should look at the pocket that is filled with stars and remember how much s/he matters.

For this year of 5761 may we all be blessed with a sense of perspective and balance. Reach for the stars and be mindful of the sand.

Our celebration of Rosh Chodesh marks the onset of spring in the Jewish tradition. The partying of Purim is now but a vague, crumb-filled memory. Passover is now inescapable and the dread we have of the cleaning and preparing and the affliction of the unrisen is nearly upon us. 

In the ancient world, rabbis only gave sermons twice a year, on the Shabbat before Rosh Hashanah and on the last Shabbat before Passover (don’t worry – that’s not until next week). The sermon before Passover was among the most highly attended events in the Jewish community, as everyone wanted to know which brand of tuna to buy and whether or not apple juice required a special kosher for Passover certification (just kidding). In reality, everyone wanted a refresher course in this most significant of ritual observances, given that they did not have the Internet, or, in many cases, printed books, to which to refer. 

In the days and weeks ahead, Hillels, synagogues and rabbis will offer countless classes and sermons, workshops and lectures, all designed to ease the challenge of preparing for the celebration which lies ahead. I’m particularly fond of attending such lectures, because I’m drawn to the finer points of Jewish legal thinking and find their observance to be tremendously fulfilling. 

Therein lies a tremendous challenge. 

The Shulhan Arukh, the Code of Jewish Law compiled by Rabbi Yosef Caro in the 16th century instructs: 

“One needs to check all the places in which there is concern lest he has brought into them hametz. And therefore, all the rooms of the house and the lofts need checking; because sometimes a person enters them with his bread in his hand. But, wine cellars from which one would not go get wine in the middle of a meal, and likewise a shed or similar places, they do not need checking. (Shulhan Arukh, Orah Hayyim 433:3) This implies that the removal of hametz, or leavening, from our homes, is a very directed task. We need only take care to clean those places which may have been “contaminated,” if you will. That’s not the same thing as the frenzied spring cleaning we are drawn to perform when it comes time to prepare for Passover. You may have seen the cartoon of the seder table, with the wife hanging from the chandelier, pointing to herself claiming, “This is the bride of affliction” (no gender insensitivity intended!) To enter the Passover holiday exhausted and resentful diminishes the transformative power of the holiday itself. 

By contrast, the Zohar, classic text of ancient kabbalistic study, tells us: 

“’AND THE PEOPLE TOOK THEIR DOUGH BEFORE IT WAS LEAVENED.’ (Exodus 12:34)…Leaven and unleaven symbolize the evil and the good inclinations in man.” (Zohar, Raya Mehemna 40b) Here, leaven is redefined to describe the puffed-up nature of our souls, the ways in which we become too big for our britches or take ourselves far more seriously than God ever intended. In this model, cleaning for Passover takes on new meaning, as we probe our souls for the hidden fragments which prevent us from feeling – and being – pure, whole and complete. 

It’s a critical moment, to cleanse our spirits. In tandem with our detailed and precise cleaning of our homes, it yields an incomparable preparation. Not simply for the seder, but for a little-noted moment of the second sedernight as we begin to count the Omer. Literally, omer is a sheaf of barley and we count the amassing of those sheaves with great trepidation, whether we fear our harvest may fail, or more significantly, as we count forward with anticipation to the conclusion of that marking of time, culminating in the receiving of the Torah. To be freed up of our physical and spiritual hametz and all they represent is to enable ourselves to be fitting and honorable recipients of the gift of the Law. To release the shackles of expectation frees us up to receive God’s Torah with a fullness of heart and a depth of purpose, partnering with God to fulfill a messianic vision. 

To be unencumbered by the excesses that our lives seem to yield, no matter how valiantly we fight against them, enables us to hear the melody of our children’s voices, inhale the scent of flowers in the air and feel the kiss of the wind against our skin. All these, and so much more, get lost in the whirlwind demands of day-to-day living. 

I’m a traditionalist. I’ll be brushing crumbs out of the pages of books, vacuuming my car, scraping every last burnt fragment off the cooktop. These, for me, are elevating tasks. But if I’m lucky, if I’m really lucky, when those labors of love are complete, I will have made space within me which can be readily filled with the joy and love of the gifts that God has given me. 

Written by Rabbi Elyse Winick

Parashat Ki Tissa includes both a reminder to the Israelites that in observing Shabbat, they celebrate the covenant between themselves and God. It also contains commandments concerning the observance of Pesach, Shavuot, and again, Shabbat. As we prepare to observe the Shabbat which falls during Pesach, let us consider how the two might be related, examining the writings of Jewish thinkers on the special relationship between Shabbat, Pesach, and even Shavuot.

Exodus 34:18, 34:21, 34:22

34:18 You should keep the Festival of Unleavened Bread. For seven days you should eat unleavened bread, as I commanded you, at the set time in the month of Aviv, for in the month of Aviv, you came out of Egypt.

34:21 Six days you should work, but on the seventh day, you should rest, in plowing time and in harvest time, you should rest.

34:22 You should observe the Festival of Weeks, even of the first fruits of the wheat harvest, and the Festival of the Ingathering at the turn of the year.

Your Torah Navigator

Before reading the commentators, let us consider the following:

1. Do you find anything unusual or problematic about the grouping of Shabbat, Pesach, and Shavuot? Are there different festivals or holidays that you feel would be more appropriately grouped with Pesach? With Shabbat? With Shavuot?

2. In your own mind, how might these three observances be related?

Philo of Alexandria

"Food, when unleavened is a gift of nature, when leavened, it is a work of art. People, in their eagerness to temper the barely necessary with the pleasant, have learned through practice to soften by art what nature has made hard. Since then, the springtime feast, as I have laid down, is a reminder of the creation of the world - and its earliest inhabitants, children of earth in the first or second generation must have used the gifts of the universe in their unperverted state before pleasure had got the mastery..."

Judah Halevy

"God commanded cessation of work on Shabbat and holy days, as well as in the culture of the soil, all this "as a remembrance of the Exodus from Egypt" and "remembrance of the work of creation." These two things belong together, because they are the outcome of the absolute Divine will, and not the result of accident or natural phenomenon.

Your Medieval Commentators Navigator

1. What connection does Philo of Alexandria see between our observance of Pesach and our connection to the first Shabbat?

2. Judah Halevy uses the word "remember" to link Shabbat and the Exodus from Egypt, because both are events which God specifically commands that we "remember." In addition to the repetition of the word "remember," what links Shabbat and the Exodus from Egypt in the opinion of Judah Halevy? Would the Giving of Torah at Mount Sinai and the observance of Shavuot also fit under the same rubric?

3. Philo of Alexandria sees Pesach as an opportunity to "get back to nature" or become closer to the seven days of creation. He uses unleavened bread as a primary example. Can you think of other ways that Pesach rituals recall for us the seven days of creation?

4. Compare and contrast Judah Halevy's and Philo of Alexandria's interpretations of the relationship between Creation and Redemption from Egypt. Are they mutually exclusive, contradictory, or in complete agreement?

5. Consider the Passover Seder. What elements of the Seder recall for you Creation? Which elements recall the Exodus from Egypt? Which elements recall for you the revelation of Torah? Where in the Seder do we find a promise of ultimate redemption?

A Word

The cycle of a Jewish day, a Jewish week, a Jewish year is included in every aspect of appreciation for the miracles of creation, redemption from Egypt, and revelation of Torah. Our daily worship service includes communal praise for these events. The Passover Seder includes elements from and reminders of each of these pivotal moments from Jewish history. The celebration of Shabbat (resting from works of creation), Pesach (redemption from Egypt) and Shavuot (receiving the Law) are inextricably linked. Each celebration is dependent on the other, and contains elements from all three pivotal experiences of the Jewish people. Let the words of our sages inspire us to see the unity of our experiences, and appreciate the ways that our celebration are interconnected. Ultimately, however, let our remembrance of the Seventh Day of Creation, the Exodus from Egypt, and the Revelation of Torah inspire us to work toward the completion of a cycle of redemption, so that we can live in a time when every day will be Shabbat, all peoples will be free from bondage, and the promise of Torah will be not only revealed, but also fulfilled.

Prepared by Rabbi Elena Stein

As Hillel educators, we frequently use our students’ experiences as the starting point for a reflective “Jewish conversation” that helps them discover the meaning of the experience in the context of their lives and its connection to their Judaism.  Jewish tradition similarly engages us in “conversations” that ask us to reflect on both personal and national experiences and to discover in them new meanings and Jewish connections.  (The Pesach Seder may be understood as the longest and most popular of these “Jewish conversations,” but it is by no means the only one).

One such “conversation” concludes this Shabbat with the reading of the fourth in a series of special selections designated as the week’s Maftir.  [Note: Usually, after the weekly Torah portion is completed Shabbat morning, the last few verses are re-read to honor the individual who will be chanting the haftorah.  This individual is called the maftir, as is the reading itself.  On special occasions like holidays and the four special Shabbatot that conclude this week, a different reading is designated as maftir and a second Torah is taken from the ark for that purpose]. 

The first of the four Shabbatot was Parshat Shekalim and was celebrated the week before the Rosh Chodesh Adar.  That Shabbat, the maftir was read from the book of Exodus (12:1-20).  It told of the commandment for each Israelite who left Egypt to be counted among the Jewish people with the symbolic contribution of one-half shekel for the maintenance of the Tabernacle.  

The second of the four was Parshat Zachor and was celebrated the Shabbat of the week of Purim.  The Maftir was taken from the book of Deuteronomy (25:17-19) and detailed the commandment for Jews of all generations to remember the wickedness of the Amalekites and to act to destroy them.  

Last week was the third of the Shabbatot, Parshat Parah.   The maftir was from the book of Numbers (19:1-22.)  It spoke of the imperative to strive for spiritual purity and detailed how the Red Heifer was used to achieve such purity during Temple times.  

Finally, this week is Parshat Hachodesh.  The maftir will be read again from the book of Exodus (12:1-20) and will tell us the details of how the Israelites in Egypt prepared for the first Pesach and their exodus from Egypt.

Rabbi Judah Lowe, the Maharal of Prague, understood Pesach and its preparation as the basis for a conversation intended to prepare us to achieve a future redemption.  The Seder and everything leading up to it, he taught, are not only reminisces of a historical exodus, but a blueprint for bringing Geulah, future redemption.  By reflecting on the experience of the exodus, identifying and internalizing the lessons the experience has for our lives, and acting on those lessons, we can fulfill our collective potential to bring about a more perfect world. 

The four Shabbatot which conclude this week and the themes struck by the Maftir for each Shabbat may be understood in this context.  Individually, they each provide a clue as to how we achieve redemption.  Taken together, they provide the opportunity to reflect upon steps that each Jew can take to build towards our collective goal of redeeming ourselves and the world:

• First is the lesson of Parshat Shekalim.  We ready ourselves to participate in redemption by actively choosing to be Jewish and to be counted among the Jewish people with participation in a communal project;

• Second is the lesson of Parshat Zachor.  We consider the values and principles of Judaism and prepare to defend them, if necessary, in the face of those who would destroy us for them;

• Next is Parshat Parah.  Redemption requires self-reflection and the aspiration for individual purity.  We cannot work to improve the world if we are not constantly striving to improve ourselves.

• Last is Parshat Hachodesh.  Overarching plans for bringing “redemption” and dreams of a more perfect world are important, but they become meaningless unless we focus also on the details and hard work that will get them done. 

These four steps: choosing to identify and affiliate as Jews; recognizing that Jewish affiliation brings with it adherence to certain principles and values; reflecting upon our own, personal standards and being determined to raise them; and acknowledging that, whatever our personal understanding of Judaism, it requires us to pay attention to the details of how we go about our daily lives, may be understood as the message of the four Shabbatot.  They are worthy guides for our own Jewish conversations and may serve as goals for the conversations we hold with our students.

"This month shall be for you the beginning of the months, it shall be for you the first of the months of the year." (Shemot 12:2) 

This coming Shabbat, the final Shabbat in the Hebrew month of Adar, is also known as Shabbat HaChodesh. An additional Torah scroll is taken out on this Shabbat and Exodus 12:1-20 is read, announcing the arrival of the month of Nissan. Shabbat Hachodesh is the last of four special Shabbatot that surround the festival of Purim. Shabbat Shekalim and Shabbat Zachor precede Purim, and Shabbat Parah and Shabbat HaChodesh follow Purim.

The first day of Nissan is a historic day for the Jewish people. It was the day when we received our first commandment as a nation: sanctify the new moon. The new month could only be declared by a Beit Din (rabbinical court) after hearing the testimony of two witnesses. This ritual has a profound spiritual and historic significance for Jews living all over the world. The establishment of when chagim (holidays) fall, how many days they are and when we celebrate in and out of Israel all relate back to this commandment. 

By virtue of this commandment, the Jewish people are given mastery over time. From that moment the calendar with its cycle of Shabbat, chagim and festivals could exist only when human witnesses declared the new month. This signifies more than control over the determination of time and the everyday events of daily life. It represents the potential for change and renewal, for rebirth and growth, and for the waning and waxing of the moon each month. 

The concept of Rosh Chodesh is one that connects holiness with time. Sanctifying time and marking it is central to our lives as Jews. As Abraham Joshua Heschel states, "Judaism is more concerned with time than space" and Judaism is "a religion of time aiming at the sanctification of time." 

The law also instructs as to count the coming month of Nissan as the first month of the year. Not Tishrei, not Rosh Hashanah, but Nissan. If the world was created in Tishrei, then why is Nissan considered the first month of the year?

Ramban understood the rationale of this law in the following way:

"The children of Israel should mark this month as the first, and should count months in relation to this one; the second, the third, to the 12th month. This is to ensure that we remember the great miracle (of yetziat Mitzrayim - the Exodus) for whenever we mention the month, we will (effectively) be mentioning the miracle. That is why there are no names of months in the Torah, but the Torah will say (for example): "And it came to pass in the third month" (19:1) or "In the second month of the second year" (Bamidbar 10:11). This is the same notion as our counting the days of the week in relation to Shabbat. And this is why it says in the verse 'it shall be the first of the months of the year FOR YOU'. In truth it is not the first month of the year (as the world was created in Tishrei), but it is the first month for you as it is a remembrance of our redemption."

Ramban sees this commandment as marking the centrality of the Exodus experience in the overall Jewish frame of mind. In the same way, the days of the week have no names in modern Hebrew. Sunday is called Yom Rishon, Monday Yom Sheni, etc., leading up to Shabbat and emphasizing the prominence of Shabbat in our week. Similarly, the months are pointing straight to the month of Nissan, a month of miracles and redemption. The month when we celebrate Pesach, freedom, ridding ourselves of hametzand eating a lot of matzah! 

The establishment of the calendar can be seen as a vital step in pursuit of freedom - all sorts of freedoms, both collective and personal. A slave is not a master of his or her own time. When I create my own calendar, I am stating without reservation that I control my time. My work times, my quiet times, my holidays, my family and friend times. My work/life balance. It enables me to honor time and mark it. I am in control of my life. The establishment of a Jewish month system is most significant especially if our calendar begins at, and points to, a month of release and redemption. 

The verse states, "La'chem" - "this month is for you." Our very own personal gift of time. Maybe it is implying that something new can happen during this month: a new discovery, a new release, a new learning, a new opportunity for relationships, a renewed sense of ourselves and our understanding of time. Nissan is a month "for you," for us and for Jews all over the world.

Prepared by Esther Abramowitz

“Behold, I will send to you Elijah the prophet before the coming of the awesome and fearful day of the Lord. He will turn the parent’s heart upon the children and the heart of the children upon the parents…” (Malachi 3:23-24)

The Shabbat before Passover, Shabbat HaGadol, offers the opportunity to focus our energies on the liberation we are about to celebrate. At home, we may have spent the last weeks preparing for seders, booking cross-country flights, packing up hametz, sweeping the floors, and searching for recipes. At work, as Hillel professionals, we may have spent the last weeks (and more) cleaning our buildings, reserving rooms for seders, advertising programs to our students, and crafting strategies for an engaging Pesach. We’ve been doing the physical work necessary to prepare our homes, our offices, and our campuses for this celebration. However, in the midst of all that work, especially when we feel that so many students are counting on us, it is easy to lose site of Pesach’s message. Enter: Shabbat HaGadol—our chance to remember why it is we’ve been doing all this work.

The haftorah read on Shabbat HaGadol (Malachi 3:4-24) comes in the period after the rebuilding of the Temple (516-15 BCE). The people have lost their faith in God’s existence and in God’s justice. The prophet instructs them in God’s name: “For I am the Lord- I have not changed; and you are the children of Jacob- you have not ceased to be… Turn back to me and I will turn back to you.” (Malachi 3:6-7). That is to say: I know you’ve been through so much suffering, so much pain, so much disgrace. I know you’ve lost your faith. But, despite all that suffering, you’re still here… you’ve survived.  So, let’s move forward. This is ultimately what Pesach is about. We all know the feelings of enslavement, of oppression, and of indignity. And yet, our people learned that hope has the power to beget freedom.  On the 40th anniversary of the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., we are instructed that to fight for liberation we must remind ourselves to dream. God is still with us, we have survived; the power to turn and to bring change still exists.

This message of possibility is brought home further by the coming of the prophet Elijah. Freedom needs an open door. As frightening as it may be, we’ve got to open ourselves, our homes, and our hearts to that dream. Malachi tells us what redemption in the hands of Elijah will look like: the collective heart of one generation will turn towards the next and will be with reciprocity. As Hillel professionals, we witness every day how the generation of students before us often feel abandoned, unseen, and ignored by the Jewish institutions, families, and communities from which they come.  A student tells us how she was made to feel less than: “a bad Jew.” A student shares that he was never invited to bring himself to Jewish tradition; it didn’t belong to him.  The reconciliation of hearts from one generation to the next is no easy task. But, Malachi tells us, it can happen. We must cling to that hope.

Rabbi Michelle Missaghieh notes that the prophet speaks not of plural hearts turning, but rather a singular one. (The Women’s Haftarah Commentary, p.289) She notes that Pharaoh’s singular heart also held vast power. Perhaps there’s a connection? As we head back to our campuses, our programs, and our students, let’s remember why we’re doing this work. A single heart can become hard, and from that obstinacy ensues  terrible suffering. A single heart can also turn, and from that miracle flows hope, freedom, and redemption.  On Shabbat HaGadol, which is all about the belief that healing, change, and redemption are indeed possible, let us be guided by the words of Dr. King: “With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope.”

Prepared by D'ror Chankin-Gould

The following is translated from the work "Siftei Shlomo" (TheLips of Solomon) of Rabbi Shlomo Unsdorffer of Pressburg,Hungary. This work was published posthumously by his brother who found these notebooks in garbage bins after the war. Rabbi Unsdorffer perished in Auschwitz.

Because of the special nature of this material, the traditional "navigator" format will not be followed. May Rabbi Unsdorffer's lips speak to us from the grave. As it is written: Any sage who recounts traditions acknowledging their source will have lips that move from the grave. (Babylonian Talmud, Yevamot 97a)

Shabbbat Hagadol, The Great Sabbat [The Shabbat before Pesach]

With the help of heaven, this is being written on the closing of Shabbat, Parshat Tzav, during the year 1942, which has passed over us with favor.

This week, which passed by with favor there was great tribulation, fear and anguish that was beyond measure, may the All-Merciful save us. On the Sunday of the week we read Parshat Tzav we prayed, as always, the morning prayers at the
Shul, Mevakshei Torah [Seekers of Torah], at 8:30 a.m., because we are not allowed outdoors until 8 a.m. During the preliminary Psalms of the morning service five or six "destructive messengers" ["angels"], may the All-Merciful
save us, came to the Shul and beat me, but the Lord may He be blessed, had compassion for I was only hit once and my glasses were broken. They announced they were going to destroy the Holy Ark and all the precious vessels in the Shul, but after a few minutes they left through the Lord's compassion.

On Sunday evening, what we had been fearful of for many days came to pass, may the Lord have mercy upon us quickly. In the evening they came to Jewish homes and took all the daughters of Israel who were 16 years or older for work. Many girls went in the morning full of fear and panic accompanied by the tears of fathers and mothers, may the Lord, may He be blessed, have mercy.

And I will always mention the compassion of the Lord for my daughter, Bracha Golda had just been married a few days before and because of this with God's help, she was saved from their hands. They searched throughout my house for her and I told them and showed them that she had been married in accordance with their laws, and with God's help they left.

This past week, which passed with favor, all week long there was fear anxiety and misery, may the All-Merciful save us, and there were frightening rumors about the girls who were taken, for they were closed off from us and not one came or went. There was also fear that they would soon come after the men and I had not a free moment or thought to prepare my class for the great Sabbath before Passover.

On the eve of the holy Sabbath, about a half hour before the Friday evening service which welcomes the Sabbath, there was a great disturbance, may the All-Merciful save us. They had come suddenly to all of the houses and they took the men and the boys with them.

They also came to my house and they wished to take my son Simcha Bunim, may his light shine. But he had traveled to Nitra, a few days before. And the compassion of the Lord I will mention when I showed them that he was in the hospital in Nitra and they left, with the help of heaven. May He be blessed and exalted for the compassion He has showed me and my household and for the compassion He will show me and my household and all of Israel in the future.

So, it should be understood that I didn't know whether I would feel able to teach on the Great Sabbath. But on the holy Sabbath the townsfolk came to the shul with the boys who were left behind and I gave a class which expounded on the laws of Passover as is appropriate for The Great Sabbath, after which I said:

"THIS IS THE BREAD OF AFFLICTION." -- For we are in strife as they were then. "For all who are hungry -- to be wicked and perform acts of cruelty, come and eat" -- us! May the All- Merciful save us. "And "all who wish" -- to do evil, and spill innocent blood, "come and have a feast" -- on us, May the All-Merciful save us...

WHY IS THIS NIGHT DIFFERENT... What is the difference between our festival of freedom and theirs, may they never be compared? We celebrate our freedom this night and it is all unleavened bread, the bread of affliction, and this night is all bitter herbs. However, from within the darkness and the bitterness we evoke the memory of freedom, with the dipping of the greens in salt water and we sit reclining, for we believe that everything indeed does come from heaven.

That is why this holy night is called a seder [Hebrew for order]. For this night and all the trials and decrees, May the All-Merciful save us, as well as the redemption and salvation that has happened in the past and will happen in the future with favor is happening in order -- whatever the Holy One wishes to do with us.

Afterward, I recalled what the great sage, the Chatam Sofer, had expounded on the seder song, Chad Gadya "One little kid." For the cat thought it could consume the kid, but in truth, they will never consume us, because our father bought us for two zuz... So, inevitably there will always remain "One little kid"... For the Holy One will also make miracles for us. And the dog came... and the stick... all because of one little kid, Israel. And in the end what remains is the Holy One and the one little kid, after the Holy One consumes and smites all those who hate us.

After those words I said with bitter tears while everyone wailed with great pain, that the Holy One would have mercy upon us by virtue of the daughters of Israel, holy and pure, that each man had taken a lamb from the fathers' house, a lamb for each house. For from their fathers' homes the young daughters were taken.

A lamb was taken for each house, for the house of the sons and the house of the fathers.

The Holy One commanded us to fulfill the commandment on Passover night to Tell your child... Here, the child asks ... Where are they? Where are the sons to ask questions and where are the ones to listen to the story? Where is the joy of Passover? Israel remains holy in its time of trial. They come to shul to pray and hear the words of Torah and to fulfill the commandments of the Lord, may He be blessed. By virtue of this remarkable behavior, "Behold I will send to you Elijah the Prophet who will revive the hearts of fathers upon the sons and the sons upon their fathers." -- altogether at one time.

There was great emotion and tears in the sanctuary. May the Holy One have mercy upon us and receive our prayers and our tears, and the prayers and tears of the daughters and sons of Israel. May He send His redeemer who will redeem us for eternity, and may we merit the celebration of the festival of matzo, which comes to us in favor, with gladness and rejoicing.

Prepared by Rabbi Avi Weinstein

Shabbat Shuva (Between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur)
Rabbinic tradition associates different Names of God with God's different attributes. The Divine Name EloHiYM is always associated with judgement. In the Torah, human judges are sometimes called EloHiYM. The ineffable Divine Name YHVH always refers to mercy. What happens when two Names of God are used in the same verse?

"EloHiYM ascends with Teruah (a cry of warning) YHVH with the sound of the Shofar." (Psalms 47:6)

Your Psalms Navigator
1. Why would the Psalmist change Names in the middle of the verse?
2. In what context might this verse be understood?
3. Why am I asking questions about Rosh Hashanah when we are already at Shabbat Shuva? No, I didn't screw up?

Midrash Leviticus Rabba 29:3
"On Rosh Hashanah the ELoHYM sits on His throne in judgement as it is written: EloHiYM ascends with Teruah (a cry of warning) but moves from His throne of judgement, to the throne of mercy. As it is written: "...YHVH with the sound of the shofar."

Your Midrash Navigator
1. Why does God have to move from justice to mercy, does this mean that God changes His mind?
2. Why does it take the sound of the shofar to do so?
3. What is being modeled for us?

A Word
The Hasidic master the Sefat Emet, understands this as a process which mirrors creation, as tradition teaches that the world was created on Rosh Hashanah, and is re-created anew every year at this time. God, he says, did not change His mind or alter His will, but He is teaching that this is the process by which the world was created. It was to demonstrate why absolute justice is not perfect justice, or ideal justice. Real justice, ultimately and paradoxically, has to be informed by mercy. Through the blowing of the shofar we are being engaged in the process of moving God from justice to mercy which is the reason this passage is so appropriate after Rosh Hashanah.

God now says to us: Just as I have moved from justice to mercy, you do the same in your lives. What I have done in one or two days, you now have ten days to do. That person with whom you haven't spoken in months or years, give her a call. These ten days of penitence are a period when God requires us to be the idealized version of ourselves. It is easier for us to make the first move because during this period it doesn't matter who was right or wrong-it only matters that it's a mitzvah and just as God is merciful i.e. giving you something you do not deserve in a world of absolute justice, you too, can grant the favor and begin the world anew.

Prepared by Rabbi Avi Weinstein

Shavuot marks the holiday on which the Jewish people received the Torah. On Shavuot there is a widespread tradition to stay awake all night learning Torah. As we prepare to metaphorically receive the Torah during the morning's Torah reading we display our love for the Torah and our excitement to be able to study it. The following D'var Torah looks at two seemingly unrelated passages from Avot De-Rabbi Natan, a minor tractate of the Talmud that elaborates on many of the passages found in the more popular Pirkei Avot.

Avot De-Rabbi Natan, Chapter 2
He shattered the tablets -- This is one of three things that Moses did of his own accord and his opinion was in accordance with that of the Lord.

When Moses went up to the Heavens to receive the Torah...he took them, descended the mountain, and was elated. When he saw the abominable offense that the Children of Israel had committed by constructing the golden calf, he said to himself: "How can I give them the tablets -- I will obligate them in all of the commandments and make them deserving of death, for it says in the Ten Commandments, "You shall have no other gods besides Me" (Exodus 20:4). Moses turned away. The 70 elders saw him and ran after him. Moses held one end of the tablets, and the elders held the other end. Moses' strength prevailed over all of them, as it says, "for all the great might and awesome power that Moses displayed before all Israel" (Deuteronomy 34:12). Moses looked at the tablets and saw that the writing had flown off of them. He said, "How can I give the Children of Israel tablets with nothing on them? Rather, I will take hold of them and break them, as it says, "I gripped the two tablets and flung them away with both my hands, smashing them before your eyes" (Deuteronomy 9:17).

Your Avot De-Rabbi Natan Navigator
1. Why did Moses act on his own accord? What does it mean that his opinion was in accordance with God's?
2. Why does Moses not want to give the Children of Israel the tablets? 
3. Why do the elders chase after Moses?
4. Why did the writing fly off the tablets?
5. Why does Moses decide to break the tablets? Do you think he was right?

Avot De-Rabbi Natan, Chapter 6
What was the beginning of Rabbi Akiva? At age 40 he had not learned anything. One time he was standing at the mouth of a well, and asked "Who hollowed out this rock?" They answered him, "Was it not the water that constantly falls on it?" They further said, "Akiva, are you not familiar with the verse "Water wears away stone..." (Job 14:19). Rabbi Akiva immediately made the following logical deduction to himself: "Just as the soft [water] shaped the hard [stone], words of Torah -- which are as hard as iron -- all the more so they will shape my heart which is but flesh and blood."

He immediately went to learn Torah. He went with his son, and they both sat in front of a teacher of young students. Rabbi Akiva said, "My master, teacher me Torah." Rabbi Akiva held one end of a tablet, and his son held the other end. The teacher wrote the letters aleph, bet, and Rabbi Akiva learned them. Aleph, tav and Rabbi Akiva learned them... He continued until he had learned the entire Torah, and then sat before Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Joshua. He said to them, "My Masters open for me the taste of the Mishnah. Once they told him one law, he went and sat by himself, pondering: "Why was this [letter] aleph written; why was this [letter] bet written; why was this thing said?" He went back and asked them, and showed them up with his words. Rabbi Shimon ben Elazar said, I will give a parable to what this matter is similar: It is like a stone cutter who was chiseling from mountains. One time he took his ax, sat upon a mountain and began cutting away small pieces of stone. People came up to him and asked, "What are you doing?" He replied, "I am uprooting them and placing them in the Jordan River." They said, "You will never be able to uproot the entire mountain." The stone cutter continued until he came upon a large rock. He got underneath it, uprooted it and placed it in the Jordan. He said to the rock, "Your place is not here [on the mountain], but here [in the river]." This is what Rabbi Akiva did to Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Joshua. Rabbi Tarfon said to him: "Akiva, about you the verse says, 'He dams up he sources of the stream so that hidden things may be brought to light' (Job 28:11) -- Rabbi Akiva brought to light things that are hidden from [other] people."

Your Avot De-Rabbi Natan Navigator, Again
1. Why is the Mishnah concerned with Rabbi Akiva's beginning? 
2. Does Rabbi Akiva's logical deduction make sense to you? Why or why not?
3. Why does Rabbi Akiva go to learn with his son?
4. Why is Rabbi Akiva able to bring to light things that were hidden?
5. Compare the imagery of both passages.

A Word
On the surface these two texts are completely unrelated. Yet if we delve deeper they can be combined to teach a powerful lesson about learning Torah. The imagery of Moses and the sages grabbing separate ends of the tablets is almost identical to the image of Rabbi Akiva and his son grabbing separate ends of a tablet to begin their schooling. The only difference in the two images is that in the first image of Moses and the scholars the letters are flying off of the tablets as they wrestle with each other. Rabbi Akiva and his son begin with a blank tablet, which ends up being full of letters and words. It is as if hundreds of generations later Rabbi Akiva is making amends for the tragic events that led to the shattering of the first set of tablets.

A close analysis of Rabbi Akiva's beginning may offer insight into the attitude and frame of mind necessary to properly engage in Torah study. The first lesson that Rabbi Akiva teaches us is that it is never too late to begin learning Torah. At the age of 40 he knew absolutely nothing, yet went on to become one of the greatest Rabbis and teachers our tradition has ever known. The fact that someone was not brought up with a rich Jewish education or background does not exclude them from fully participating and contributing to Jewish life. Rabbi Akiva further demonstrates the importance of not being ashamed or to admit that you don't know something. I can't think of a more embarrassing situation than for a forty year old man to attend the same Nursery school class as his son. We are all familiar with the adage, "there is no such thing as stupid questions." Rabbi Akiva truly embodies and teaches the lesson of this saying. A final lesson that Rabbi Akiva teaches is the value of one's life experiences. Perhaps Rabbi Akiva brought to light previously unknown things because he was able to draw from his life experiences. He was able to offer new insights because he had a unique learning style and unique life experiences from which to draw.

This Shavuot, as we prepare to receive the Torah anew, and reexamine our relationship with the Torah, we should draw on the message of Rabbi Akiva. 

Prepared by Elliot Kaplowitz

This week the festival of Shavuot begins on Thursday night. It is the festival when the first fruits were brought to the Temple, and it is the day the tradition teaches that we received the Torah. It is appropriate to ponder that moment of revelation and its relevance to us at this moment. The following Talmudic passage is worth considering as we approach this time.

Rabbi Joshua b. Levi said, "When Moses ascended on high, the ministering angels spoke before the Holy One, blessed be He, 'Sovereign of the Universe! What business has one born of woman among us?'

'He has come to receive the Torah,' answered God to them. Said they to Him, 'That secret treasure, which has been hidden by You for nine hundred and seventy-four generations before the world was created. You desire to give it to flesh and blood! What is man, that You art mindful of him, and the son of man, that You visit him? O' Lord our God, How excellent is Your Name in all the earth! Who has set Your glory [the Torah] upon the Heavens!'

The Holy One said to Moses, 'Return them an answer.'

'Sovereign of the Universe' replied Moses, 'I fear, lest they consume me with the [fiery] breath of their mouths.'

'Hold on to the Throne of Glory,' said God to Moses, 'and return them an answer.'

Moses [then] spoke before God, 'Sovereign of the Universe! The Torah which You give me, what is written in it -- I am the Lord Your God, who brought you out of the Land of Egypt.'

Said Moses to the angels, 'Did you go down to Egypt? Were you enslaved to Pharaoh? Why then should the Torah be yours?'

'Again, what is written in it? You shall have none other god. Do you dwell among peoples that engage in idol worship?'

'Again, what is written in it? Remember the Sabbath day -- to keep it holy. Do you then perform work, that you need to rest?'

'Again, what is written in it? You shall not take [tissa] [the name ... in vain]. Is there any business [massa] dealings among you?'

'Again, what is written in it? Honor your father and your mother. Have you fathers and mothers?'

'Again, what is written in it? You shall not murder. You shall not commit adultery. You shall not steal. Is there jealousy among you; is the Evil Tempter among you?'

Immediately the angels conceded to the Holy One, for it is said, 'O' Lord, our Lord, How excellent is Your Name throughout the land. 'Who has set Your glory upon the heavens is not written.' Immediately each angel saw Moses as beloved..."

Your Talmud Navigator
1. Why are the angels against giving humanity the Torah?
2. Why does God have Moses answer his angel/critics?
3. How does Moses convince them that the Torah is for humanity and not to remain in heaven?
4. Why are the angels so pleased with Moses' argument?
5. Why does this story say the Torah was given to the Jewish people?
6. What was God's reason for giving Torah to the Jewish people?
A Word
It is our consciousness and our ability to choose (not to mention our thumbs) that distinguish us from the animal kingdom, and it is our mortality and our ability to choose that separates us from the angels. We have the potential to succeed or fail in this finite journey, and we have many choices that will inform how life will fare. The animals are on their own, but we have been given a road map that tempers consciousness and conscience. Our frailty, our vulnerability and our ability to change that makes the Torah uniquely suited for a human being. Our ability to change is our greatest gift. It is our potential to fail that allows us to fulfill creation. The angels understand that Torah is for the weak, and therein lies its greatness. It is what makes the weak great.

We are human and we are weak. But, we are also Jews and we are guided by the gift of a unique purpose that makes us collectively strong and eternal.

The Jews on this day were given a moral purpose and a spiritual mandate which ensured their perpetuity.

As we receive the Torah once again, we all rededicate ourselves to this purpose --to be a holy people in the service of their Creator.

About the holiday of Sukkot the Torah writes (Lev. 23:39) "But in the fifteenth day of the seventh month, when you have gathered in the fruit of the land, you shall keep a feast to the Lord seven days; on the first day shall be a sabbath, and on the eighth day shall be a sabbath. And you shall take for yourselves on the first day the fruit of a beautiful tree, date branches, a branch of a leafy tree, and willows of the brook and you shall rejoice before the Lord your God seven days."

The following Midrash is quite perplexed by the Torah's use of the term "first day."

Midrash Tanchumah, Emor 22
"Why is it called the first day, indeed its actually the 15th day of the month. Rather the verse refers to the first day of Sukkot as the 'first day' because it is the first day of the counting of sins...On Yom Kippur the whole people fast and pray...on the first day of sukkot (four days after Yom Kippur) the people take their lulovs and dance in praise before God. Then God forgives them, and says I will erase all your previous sins and start counting new sins from this day forward. Therefore does the Torah call the first day of Sukkot the 'first day', because it is the first day of the counting of sins."

Your Midrash Navigator
1. This Midrash seems to extend the Yom Kippur process into the first day of Sukkot. What do you make of the Midrash's image of the Jews rejoicing before God with heir lulovs as a moment of forgiveness that even Yom Kippur itself could not create?
2. Have you ever felt that Yom Kippur and Sukkot were linked? Why or why not?
3. How is Sukkot similar to Yom Kippur? How is it different?
4. In the holiday prayer service Sukkot is called, "yom simchatanu" "the day of our joy", Yom Kippur is called in the Talmud "Yom Kippurim" literally, "The day like Purim." How is joy central to both Sukkot and Yom Kippur?

A Word
Yom Kippur is a day during which we reestablish our relationship with God in a very deep way. This linking with the Infinite gives us a deep and ultimate joy, but when Yom Kippur ends and we are no longer fasting and praying it becomes hard to retain our level of devotion and spirituality. Four days latter, on Sukkot, we take the deep relationship we forged with God and bring it into the real world. Our intimate relationship with the Spiritual and with God is now strengthened and our joy emerges from it, not from our physical comfort and protection. We enter the holy but tenuous structure and no longer need our big house, TV, or furniture. In the sukkah there is an intimacy with God that keeps us joyous. It is a real world intimacy which requires no praying and fasting, no big synagogue and no fancy house; just our soul, our people, our Divine relationship and our true selves. True joy.

Prepared by Rabbi Hyim Shafner

Welcome to the year 5769. No matter how long I have been out of school, the beginning of the Jewish New Year always makes me feel like I am a freshman in college. At the same time as I celebrate the High Holidays, I begin a new school year on campus, meet many new faces, eat a lot of food, and then finally comes Sukkot. Sukkot is the time when we as Jews move into our new "dorm" and create a new space.

But what is the significance of Sukkot falling at this time of year on the Jewish calendar? Why are we celebrating outdoors? Is there a reason Sukkot comes immediately after the High Holidays?

Before we can tackle these questions, we need to figure out what a sukkah really is:

A sukkah is a booth which Jews are commanded to dwell in during Sukkot, the Festival of the Tabernacles, as stated in Leviticus (23: 42-45), "You shall in live in sukkot, booths, in order that future generations may know that I made the Israelite people live in booths when I brought them out of Egypt, I am the Lord your God."

Modern biblical scholars explain the origins of the holiday of Sukkot as deriving from the ancient harvest festivals, when farmers would erect booths as temporary dwelling places in the fields during the harvest season. The Jewish tradition then adapted the celebration, so that the practice of building sukkot continued, however the purpose shifted from honoring the new harvest, to the commemoration of the Jewish journey in the wilderness.

The standard explanation for the tradition of constructing sukkot is that structures are intended to be reminiscent of the transportable tents which the Israelites lived in as they traveled through the wilderness. By recreating these booths and making them into our temporary homes for one week, we relive the experience of our ancestors and connect with our history.

Rabbi Akiva, a second-century Jewish scholar cited frequently in the Talmud, offers an alternative explanation for the purpose of sukkot. He explains that the word sukkah does not mean "booth," but "covering," and the sukkot we build are not intended to reference the temporary dwellings of the Israelites, but another fixture in the Jewish journey - the "cloud of glory" which was said to have covered and surrounded the Israelites in the wilderness and provided them with divine protection from the hostile elements.

When we leave the permanent dwelling of our home and enter the temporary dwelling of the sukkah we leave behind the physical protection provided by the house and instead honor the metaphysical protection which God gave to the Jews in the wilderness and continues to offer us. This is not to say that Judaism frowns upon material possessions. However, by leaving the home and entering the sukkah, we declare that it is the spiritual side of existence that brings true joy in life. Once we have experienced the sukkah and the return to nature, we are then able to return into our homes with a heightened appreciation for both the spiritual and physical comforts we have been given.

Sukkot is a festival of religious joy. Jewish mystical tradition teaches that to dwell in the sukkah is to be under the shadow of faith. A Chasidic rabbi once said, "The sukkah is unique in that while all other precepts are carried out by only part of the body, in the sukkah it is the whole body that enters into the precept"

The Sages teach, in Ethics of the Fathers "Completing one mitzvah leads to completing another mitzvah" (4:2). After our intense period of self-reflection and repentance during the Days of Awe, we take all of our positive thoughts and hopes for the new year, and we create a physical and spiritual space within the sukkah in which we house these thoughts and allow them to flourish.

We at Hillel can take this message and extend it beyond ourselves. Students walk into school each year thinking and hoping that this year will be greatest one yet. We need to create spaces that reflect and honor those thoughts and feelings. The meaning of Sukkot is to help us take the next step and create a strong foundation from which those ideas and emotions will be able to grow and develop throughout the year.

Written by Rebecca Kaplan

About the holiday of Shemini Atzeret, the Torah writes (Lev.33:36) "On the (Shemini) eighth day [of Sukkot] you shall observe a sacred occasion and bring an offering by fire to YHVH; it is (an atzeret) a solemn gathering: you shall not work at your occupations."

It is possible that a person might wonder: what is the purpose of Shemini Atzeret? Why now - why after all of these holidays - Rosh Hashana, Yom Kippur, seven days of Sukkot - would we have an eighth day of celebration? It is just too much for us! But God does not feel this way. The midrash elaborates that God thought of a way to explain the purpose of the holiday of Shemini Atzeret to us. 

Chizkuni, Leviticus 23:36
(Chizkuni was a mid-thirteenth century Biblical Commentator and was part of Rashi's school of thought.)
This situation is comparable to a king whose children came to visit him. The first time the king asked, "When will you return to me?" They told him, "in 50 days." He said, "Go in peace." The second time he asked, "When will you return?" They said in four months and he told them to "go in peace." The third time they told him, "we can't return for seven months." The king said, "if that's the case, please stay with me one more day so I can enjoy your company since you will be so delayed for so long." For this reason there is no atzeret [extra day of gathering] for the Jews on Passover, because they return on Shavuot [in 50 days]. And there is no atzeret on Shavuot because they will return on Sukkot [in four months]. But on Sukkot, when they will not return again until Passover [in seven months], God delays them one day. 

Your Midrash Navigator
1. How does this midrash respond to any thoughts you might have about the Holy Days?
2. Is it possible to imagine God's wishing that we would stay "just one more day?" 
3. Have you ever thought about the seven months until our next big festival, Passover? Does it seem like a long time in the scheme of things? 

A Word
Shemini Atzeret is a unique day for us, in which we are able to take one last day to cherish the holiness we have experienced during this intense period of time during the Holy Days of Rosh Hashana, Yom Kippur and Sukkot. Although the abundance of holidays may feel overwhelming for us, it does offer us something very special. It offers us the time to reflect on our lives and feel a closeness to God that we might not feel on other, more ordinary days. Actually, here in the diaspora, Jews took this extra time seriously and created even one more day - a ninth day - for Simchat Torah - which is truly the last day of this Holy Season. After so many solemn days of reflection, on Simchat Torah it is finally time to celebrate the Torah - the great story and heritage of the Jewish people. So God asked us for an eighth day (Shemini Atzeret) and we gave God a ninth (Simchat Torah)! What a happy time!

Prepared by Rabbi Andrea Steinberger

Simchat Torah is celebrated by traditional Jews in the Diaspora as the ninth day of the festival of Sukkot – “the season of our rejoicing”. In Israel and among liberal Jews Simchat Torah is celebrated together with Shemini Atzeret on the eighth day of Sukkot. The holiday was created during the Middle Ages and in conjunction with the advent of an annual Torah reading cycle as opposed to the triennial cycle, which was the prior tradition. It marks the completion of the annual cycle of Torah readings with the story of Moses’ death and the beginning of the new cycle with Bereshit-Genesis and the creation of the world. 

Simchat Torah is resplendent with symbolism that connotes cycle and circle. The cycle of Torah reading moves from death to life, reminding us that the study of Torah never ends. While we read the same parsha each year, it is not the parsha that changes - it is we who change - our reality, our perspective and hence our understanding. As we approach winter and the contemplation of ending and death, we are reminded of life to follow with promises of spring in our Shemini Atzeret prayers for rain. 

Additionally, we are linked to one another by the seven hakkafot, the joyful circuits around the room holding the Torahs, a band of dancing celebrants in tow, encircling the community. Simchat Torah is a communal festival that takes place in the synagogue – no partying alone. Children are very much a part of the festivities – dor l’dor – generation to generation in action. 

During the evening service, following the hakkafot, the Torah is read. This is the only time during the year that the Torah is read at night. The next morning we begin again with the hakkafot and then the Torah reading. It is customary for each member of the congregation who is eligible for an aliyah to receive one. There is a special aliyah for the children where together they stand under a tallit and receive their aliyah. 

On campus, Simchat Torah brings students out of the woodwork, ever-ready for a good party. What is the attraction? Is revelry the only reason? Unlike Shavuot, the holiday celebrating the giving of the Torah, which is associated with all-night Torah study, study is not generally a part of Simchat Torah celebrations. To the contrary, on Simchat Torah most of our time is spent with a closed Torah covered with a mantel. 

Perhaps one of the lessons of this day is that it’s accessible: one needn’t be a great Torah scholar. In dancing, the playing field gets leveled. In an effort to provide so many aliyot it is generally a group experience and lack of knowledge or comfort with the blessings before and after the Torah reading is not as obvious. In traditional synagogues on Simchat Torah the boundaries are more relaxed and women sometimes have the opportunity to have their own dance celebration with a Torah. In others, the mechitzah(the traditional physical barrier between men and women) comes down. Children get to participate in more prominent ways than at other times. Simchat Torah is a unique opportunity to include as many people as possible in an experiential way. It’s about feeling, not about thinking. The joy is infectious. This is a holiday where the “insider/outsider” tensions are less apparent, where the emotional connection to the Torah is the overriding theme. On the most basic of levels we can all show love and reverence for our tradition. 

What is the object of our rejoicing? The cycle of life. The continuity of Talmud-Torah, The celebration of community, appreciating the fact that we are one people. Or all of the above, embodied in the values and teachings of the Torah. 

Written by Debbie Amster

On Shavuot we read Megillat Rut - the Book of Ruth. Strong connections exist between Ruth's story and this holiday. Harvest imagery is prevalent in the Book of Ruth, with crucial scenes taking place on Boaz's fields and threshing floor. This resonates with Shavuot's status as an agricultural festival; in the time of the Temple, pilgrims flocked to Jerusalem to perform the mitzvah of bikurim, or offering their first fruits. Another tie between Ruth and Shavuot lies in the figure of King David. Ruth and Boaz conceived Oved, the grandfather of King David, who is believed to have died on Shavuot. 

Let's explore another rich connection between Shavuot and the figure of Ruth: the idea of chesed, or loving-kindness. R. Ze'era declares in Ruth Rabbah 2:14, "The Scroll of Ruth tells us nothing of the laws of cleanness or uncleanness, of what is prohibited or what is permitted. Why then was it written? To teach you how great is the reward of those who do deeds of kindness." In other words, the very purpose of the Book of Ruth is to convey the importance of kindness, rather than teach intricacies of halacha. Two excerpts from Ruth will help examine who are the agents of kindness in this story. The first scene takes place when Ruth returns to her mother-in-law Naomi after a successful day of gleaning. The second scene takes place when Ruth approaches Boaz on his threshing floor.

Scene One: Ruth 2:17-21
17. She gleaned in the field until evening. Then she beat out what she had gleaned - it was about an ephah of barley -
18. and carried it back with her to the town. When her mother-in-law saw what she had gleaned, and when she also took out and gave her what she had left over after eating her fill, 
19. her mother-in-law asked her, "Where did you glean today? Where did you work? Blessed be he who took such generous notice of you!" So she told her mother-in-law whom she had worked with, saying, "The name of the man with whom I worked today is Boaz."
20. Naomi said to her daughter-in-law, "Blessed be he of the Lord, who has not failed in His kindness to the living or to the dead! For," Naomi explained to her daughter-in-law, "the man is related to us; he is one of our redeeming kinsmen." 
21. Ruth the Moabite said, "He even told me, 'Stay close by my workers until all my harvest is finished.'" 

Your Ruth Navigator
1. What prompts Naomi's initial excitement in this scene? 
2. What piece of information provides further proof of God's kindness to Ruth and Naomi?
3. How does Ruth corroborate this opinion?
4. Who are the different agents of loving-kindness here, and who are the recipients of their kindness?

Scene Two: Ruth 3:8-11
8. In the middle of the night, the man gave a start and pulled back - there was a woman lying at his feet! 
9. "Who are you?" he asked. And she replied, "I am your handmaid Ruth. Spread your robe over your handmaid, for you are a redeeming kinsman." 
10. He exclaimed, "Be blessed of the Lord, daughter! Your latest deed of kindness is greater than the first, in that you have not turned to younger men, whether poor or rich. 
11. And now, daughter, have no fear. I will do in your behalf whatever you ask..."

Your Ruth Navigator Again
1. Who is now showing whom kindness?
2. To what could Boaz be referring when he mentions Ruth's "first" kindness? Why would her attempt to marry Boaz be kinder than any previous demonstrations of this quality?
3. Find the phrase in Boaz's statement that matches a phrase from Naomi's statement in Chapter 2. What does this say about the way in which both of these people view human acts of kindness?

A Word
In the first scene, Naomi views God's kindness as two-fold. First, He has enabled Ruth to bring back a large quantity of food from the fields. On the level of physical human needs, God has indeed been generous, as has Boaz by extension. In addition, God has also given Ruth the chance to meet a potential second husband. Boaz's status as a close relative of Mahlon, Ruth's first husband-though not the closest kinsman, as the text will show-means he could quite possibly take Ruth as his wife and perpetuate Mahlon's name on his estate. (See Leviticus 25:24-28 for laws of redeeming the land.)

The scene on the threshing floor contains several levels of kindness. Ruth offers herself to a man much older than she, a fact duly noted by Boaz when he says "you have not turned to younger men." Ruth's act is also a kindness to Naomi because marrying Boaz would ensure that the name of Mahlon, Naomi's son, will live on. Boaz himself expresses unconditional loving-kindness to the Moabite woman when he tells her, "I will do in your behalf whatever you ask." This scene demonstrates that an act of kindness can ripple out from a two-person interaction and envelop an entire family or a community in its warmth. 

What does loving-kindness have to do with Shavuot's status as the day marking the giving of the Torah? The Book of Ruth is saturated with instances of both God and human beings treating each other with chesed - taking extra steps to ensure the comfort and well-being of others. So, too, the entire Torah is a text conveying the importance of treating others with kindness and love. In the Babylonian Talmud, Sotah 14a, R. Simlai explains that the Torah has as bookends acts of loving-kindness: "Torah-there is a deed of loving-kindness at its beginning and a deed of loving-kindness at its end." As a microcosm of the type of behavior that literally frames our Torah, Ruth's story is entirely appropriate for reading on Shavuot, the day celebrating that gift from God. 

A Final Thought
This discussion can be brought full circle with a text from the prophet Hoseah: "Sow for yourselves according to charity, but reap according to your loving-kindness" (Hoseah 10:12). 
Shavuot is a holiday originally linked to the agricultural rhythms of sowing and reaping. Today we no longer trek to the Temple to offer the first fruits of our harvest; many of us have no regular interaction with the earth. By treating those around us with loving-kindness, we can plant and nourish positive relationships. The fruits we reap will be bountiful: a world based on treating others with dignity, respect, kindness, and love. This Shavuot we can be reminded that reaping can take place in our time; that we, too, can harvest the first fruits of our kind interactions and offer them to God.

By Hannah Graham

Rabbi Solomon Schechter (1849-1915) was one of the founders of the American Conservative movement and the first president of the Jewish Theological Seminary. He was a scholar as well as a theologian, and helped to shape the 20th century American Jewish experience. This selection reflects an interesting turn-of-the-century Jewish perspective.

"The joy experienced by the rabbinic Jew in being commanded to fulfill the Law, and the enthusiasm which he felt at accomplishing that which he considered to be the will of God, is a point hardly touched upon by most theological writers, and if touched upon at all, is hardly ever understood. Yet this "joy of the Law" is so essential an element in the understanding of the Law, that it... can never be conceived by those who have experienced it neither from life nor from literature."

"This principle of joy in connection with the 'mitzvah' is maintained both in the Talmud and in the devotional literature of the Middle Ages. The general rule is: tremble with joy when you are about to fulfill a commandment... Rabbi Bahya ben Halawa declares that the joy accompanying the carrying out of a religious performance is even more acceptable to God than the 'mitzvah' itself. The righteous, he points out, feel this ineffable delight in performing God's will in the same way as the spheres and planets (whose various revolutions are a song to God) rejoice in their going forth and are glad in their returning; while Rabbi Joseph Askari of Safed makes joy one of the necessary conditions without which a law cannot be perfectly carried out. And I may perhaps remark that this joy of the 'mitzvah' was a living reality even in modern times. I myself had once the good fortune to observe one of these old type Jews, who, as the first morning of Sukkot drew near, used to wake and rise soon after the middle of the night. There he sat, with trembling joy, awaiting impatiently the break of dawn, when he would be able to fulfill the law of the palm branch and the willow!"
-Solomon Schechter, Some Aspects of Rabbinic Theology
(New York: Macmillan Co., 1909) pp. 148, 150-152.

Your Schechter Navigator

1. What is joy in a Jewish context as explained by Rabbi Schechter?
2. According to the sources cited by Rabbi Schechter, how does joy impact the fulfilling of a commandment?
3. What does Rabbi Schechter imply about the regularity of joy in modern Jewish observance?

A Word

One of the hardest struggles for us as campus professionals is to create a Jewish environment that gives students permission to celebrate their Judaism. We have become wonderfully proficient in empowering our students to feel good about being Jewish, but we also constantly struggle to connect many of them to the joy of Judaism. Our students come in to adulthood while they are in college but too many of them still leave campus Jewishly adolescent. Helping students to "unpack their religious baggage" is a vital, if still elusive, responsibility for Hillel professionals and it is made all the more difficult for us because we often have not fully done that for ourselves first. Even the more religiously connected of us know that it is a constant process to remind ourselves that we too have room for growth and the capacity for Jewish joy.

Today, Tuesday, October 10, I spent the day putting up our Hillel Sukkah with three students. One of them is a "regular," one the nominally-involved president of our AEPi chapter, and one a new student who has just discovered he has Jewish roots and is now studying for conversion. All three showed up separately and unexpectedly this morning as I was 'schlepping' the wood outside in response to an announcement at breakfast. We had a great time of "Jewish bonding" as we drilled, ratcheted and finagled the Sukkah together, and it was a real moment of joy for the three of us as we stepped back when we were done to admire our handiwork. The "regular" knew he had contributed yet again to the Hillel community and was pleased that he had the chance to do a mitzvah that he would have also done at home with his own family. The president, by his own admission, was unexpectedly satisfied that he had done "something religious," and the student studying for conversion was really happy that he had built his first Sukkah. 

I, listening to all three of them, was thankful to them not only for their help but for reminding me why I work here. I witnessed three forms of Jewish joy today that vicariously filled me with my own sense of it as well. I, as well as all of us, work on campus because we find great joy in helping students to not only "do Jewish" but also to discover Jewish. We see it on their faces when we help them find a program that relates to them, when we experience Birthright Israel with them, and when we talk with them about their lives and life experiences. For me as a rabbi, that includes helping students to find the joy in doing a mitzvah and the meaningfulness of adulthood in Jewish practices. Rabbi Schechter saw Jewish joy as a endangered experience in his day. All of us who have built a Sukkah this week with our students, who will help a student to shake their first lulav, or who will just share a meal in one with them know that Jewish joy is alive and well on our campuses and in the American Jewish future.

Prepared by Rabbi Scott Aaron

I apologize for having abandoned the Navigator format for Rosh Hashanah. It did not seem to adequately serve the needs of these outrageously surreal times. I generally feel that when the times speak so loudly, it is best to keep one's counsel, but the Day of Judgment approaches and words are our vessels for comfort.

Rosh Hashanah serves as a day of judgment, a new year, a day of conception and creation and a day of fear and trembling.

The Talmud in the tractate of Rosh Hashanah reports a dispute over what the shofar -- Rosh Hashanah's defining symbol - should look like.

The Mishnah states: The shofar should be made from a mountain goat, and be straight. The Talmud brings the opinion of Rabbi Levy who argues that it should be from a Ram and be curved. Why the difference of opinion, the Talmud asks? The Mishnah argues that it is better to address God in prayer standing straight, while Rabbi Levy argues that it is better to address God in prayer bent in contrition. (Rosh Hashanah 26b)

The Midrash teaches (Pesikta Rabati 23:3) in the name of Resh Lakish when Israel blows the shofar on Rosh Hashanah, she moves God from the attribute of stern judgment to the attribute of mercy -- how should the shofar "stand" when it sounds out the Ruler of the Universe? In the face of absolute justice would one offer defiance or would one be bent in contrition? Pride is for the guiltless and none of us is guilt free. Only once the shofar is blown can we regain our posture. Resh Lakish says that we are transformed by the shofar's sound as God moves from justice to mercy.

Erev Rosh Hashanah a year ago, the so-called Al Aksa Intifada began a wave of sustained terror that has numbed and bewildered all who love Israel. Now, a year later, here, in America, we prepare for Rosh Hashanah by giving blood to our neighbors, sharing their grief, or grieving ourselves. We are bent and we must go through a process in order to stand tall again, and it is through the medium of the shofar that we regain our ability to look the world and its magnificence in the eye.

The shofar, the Talmud teaches, should ideally come from a ram to remind us of Isaac and the sacrifice that did not take place. But its sound is also the cry for alarm, and as the midrash says: The last gasps of Sarah when she heard that Isaac was taken, sounded like three blasts from the shofar. (Pirke d'Rebbe Eliezer, Chapter 31) It is this last image that reflects the reality of the past week. All those people victimized -- sacrificed by a fight they had no idea they were in. Thousands of people left wondering just as Sarah mourned over the unknown fate of her only son. We hear their cries as the shofar wails and we pray that it is enough to move the Holy One from stern justice to absolute and relentless mercy. It is for this we pray so that we may stand and look forward to what the new year may bring.

May everyone be inscribed and sealed in the book of life.

Prepared by Rabbi Avi Weinstein

In another few days, my family and I will live in our sukkah. We build it on our porch; it's pretty big. We have windows carved in the shape of the skyline of the Old City of Jerusalem that open and close. We spend a lot of time decorating it. Every year we have a different theme. Once it was simcha (joy), once Jerusalem, once a wedding. We haven't decided on this year's theme yet. It's a big family debate. I usually lose. 

We work very hard to build our sukkah. I'm not very handy with tools, and the kids always know that something will go wrong. Fingers get smashed and boards fall down. Anyway, it's supposed to be a temporary dwelling. The important thing is that we all build it together. 

And building it is a welcome change. After the intense days of introspection of Rosh Hashanah, the 10 days of repentance and Yom Kippur, it feels good to pick up a hammer and nails and try to build something. 

We all sleep in the sukkah, my wife, me and the six kids. At night we spread out the sleeping bags and cuddle up. We do a lot of camping, but anyone who has slept in a sukkah knows the difference between a tent and a sukkah. It's the roof. Fortunately, our tent keeps out most of the rain and moisture. But it also keeps out the stars. And for me that is the most important part of the sukkah. We may eat all of our meals in the sukkah and spend most of the day in it, but my favorite time is the night - in particular, falling asleep. I love to lie on my back in the sukkah and look up and see the full moon.

What is the effect of sleeping and watching the stars, the moon, the sky? What is the message of Sukkot to me? 

I remember once as a kid reading a poem that said that someone who slept on an island would be changed forever. I think that the same thing could also be said of sleeping in a sukkah. 

The rabbis compared the building of a sukkah to the building of a world. We take natural materials and construct our own space. And though it may be a bit rickety and frail, still, we build it. And when we eat in it we say a blessing. It is not just a hut or a booth. It is holy. 

And perhaps that is the reason why the holiday of Sukkot is referred to as the "holiday of our happiness." What a strange name. I understand why Passover is called "the holiday of matzah." I understand why the Talmud referred to Shavuot as "the holiday of the giving of Torah." But "the holiday of our happiness?" Aren't we supposed to be happy all the time? And what is so happy about Sukkot?

A lot of time I think my life is trying to fill in the blank of the statement: "I would be happy if __________ happened." And when that blank is filled up, then another one inevitably replaces it. I would be really happy if __________. Happiness seems to be so elusive.

But Sukkot is supposed to be the ultimate answer to that fill in the blank. 

When I build a world and still see the stars - then I'm happy. It's a very deep happiness. When I'm fully involved in building this world, but still impassioned by the vision of the skies, when I'm being completely practical, but also dreaming ultimate dreams, then I'm happy. 

During Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur we go inside literally and figuratively. We spend hours in synagogue doing deep, serious spiritual work, improving and cleansing our inner, spiritual selves. But we go "inside" in order to go "outside."

During Sukkot we go outside. We build a sukkah, a world unto itself. Eventually, hopefully, we won't just build a sukkah: The sukkah will become a model for building a world that is connected to the heavens - building a world here that is in the image of God.

Prepared by Rabbi Aryeh Ben David

Each year, after the intensity of the High Holydays, we are exhausted physically and emotionally. We face the holiday of Sukkot, during which we are commanded to be joyful, and to experience the holiday with family, friends and guests.

There is a custom of inviting ushpizin, (Aramaic for guests) each night to join us in the sukkah. This custom was introduced by the kabbalists in Sfat in the Middle Ages. The guests are as follows: Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, Aaron, and David. Some people have also invited the matriarchs and other women into the sukkah. One list goes like this: Sarah, Miriam, Deborah, Hannah, Abigail, Huldah, and Esther.

This invitation to welcome the guests is in Aramaic and was reportedly said by Rabbi Isaac Luria: 
U-lu ush-pi-zin i-la-in ka-di-shin! 
U-lu a va-han i-la-in ka-di-shin! 
Te-vu ush-pi-zin i-la-in, te-vu! 
Te-vu ush-pi-zin m'hem-nu-ta, te-vu!

(Enter, exalted, sacred guests!
Enter, exalted, sacred ancestors!
Be seated, exalted guests!
Be seated, faithful guests!)

We read in the Zohar (Zohar Emor, 103b):"When you sit in the sukkah, on the shade of faithfulness,' the Shechina spreads Her wings over you and Abraham, five other righteous ones, and King David, make their dwelling with you...Thus you should rejoice with a shining countenance each and every day of the festival together with these guests who lodge with you..."

Your Zohar Navigator:
1. What is the purpose of inviting guests into the sukkah?
2. How can we, as modern Jews, find meaning in this ancient custom?

A Word
Inviting ushpizin into your sukkah can be a way to modernize your time in the sukkah and actually help you and others find meaning in your dwelling in booths. Each of these guests represents to us a wanderer, one who was able to think outside of the narrow-mindedness of their own community and take action. Each night, by candlelight, invoke this ancient formula, and invite a guest into the sukkah. Set a chair for him/her. Ask someone to "introduce" this biblical guest. Who was he/she? What did he/she achieve? What was it about this person's life that we wish to remember? And each night, take action. Allow the invitation of these honorable guests to spur you to perform acts of tzedek. Collect canned food for a shelter or food pantry. Choose an organization in your area and collect tzedakah to benefit the organization. Invite participants to join in a day of service to benefit an organization in your community. Work for social justice! May we allow these days of sukkot to be a time of great joy for us. And may we use that joy for tikkun olam - improvement of our world.

Chag Sukkot Sameach!

Prepared by Rabbi Andrea Lerner

This Saturday at sundown, we celebrate Simchat Torah, the "Joy of Torah." It is one of the happiest moments of the Jewish year, when we read the last words of Deuteronomy, then begin immediately again to read the first words of Genesis. Yet, the last chapters of Torah are bittersweet, as Moses prepares to die, and the Jewish people to move on without him. Several weeks ago, as Torah is coming to a close, we read:

Deuteronomy 31

14. And YHWH said to Moses, behold, your days approach that you must die. Call Joshua and present yourselves in the Tent of Meeting, that I may instruct him. Moses and Joshua went and presented themselves in the Tent of Meeting.

15. YHWH appeared in the Tent, in a pillar of cloud, the pillar of cloud having come to rest at the entrance of the tent.

Your Torah Navigator

What does it mean when God tells Moses, "your days approach that you must die?" Why do you think that God says it that way? How would it feel to watch another person take over what you had worked so hard to create?

Deuteronomy Rabbah 9:2

"And YHWH said to Moses, behold, your days approach that you must die."

This bears out what Scripture says:
I have further observed under the sun that
The race is not won by the swift,
Nor the battle by the valiant;
Nor is bread won by the wise,
Nor wealth by the intelligent,
Nor favor by the learned.
For the time of mischance (death) comes to all.
(Ecclesiastes 9:11)
The verse refers to Moses... yesterday he knew how to appease his Creator... but God finally said to him: Behold "your days approach."

A Word

These days we may see our students feeling the way the author of these verses of Ecclesiastes felt. Disappointment. Hopelessness. We watch with horror and confusion the violence in Israel between Israelis and Palestinians. Some of our students may feel that a once promising peace process is now in peril. That Israel, once a proud leader, is now being replaced by Israel, the attacked, Israel the attacker. Will our homeland be replaced by something that we never imagined it to be?

And simultaneously, at Simchat Torah, we read the last lines of Torah with sadness for what never was -- for Moses, who never reached the Promised Land he had worked hard to attain. And then, without hesitation, we renew ourselves. We read once again the words of Bereshit, Genesis. We renew our faith in new beginnings. Once again, we agree to participate in the awesome nature of the world. Always moving toward peace, toward creation, toward "tikkun olam," repairing the world. May the words of Torah inspire us once again away from violence and hopelessness. May the words of Torah renew for us again the desire for creation, faith and acts of peace in this new year, 5761.

Prepared by Rabbi Andrea Lerner

The Shabbat before Passover is known as "Shabbat Hagadol" or "The Great Shabbat." On Shabbat Hagadol rabbis must address their congregations about the upcoming Passover holiday. In the spirit of Shabbat Hagadol, this week's D'var Torah focuses on a lesser known aspect of Passover. 

Everybody loves this dish of apples, nuts, and wine that is served at the Passover Seder. Not as well known is the Talmud's connection of this dish to the heroic actions of the Israelite women. This D'var Torah explores that connection.

Babylonian Talmud, Pesachim 116a
The last chapter of the Tractate of Pesachim describes the Seder rules from nearly 2000 years ago. Charoset is introduced as one of the items to be "brought forth, even though it is not considered a mitzvah." Rabbi Eliezer the son of Rabbi Tzadok disagrees, and declares it to be a mitzvah.

The Gemara, the Talmud's discussion of this Mishnah poses the following question:

If it's not a mitzvah, what are they bringing it for?

The Gemara answers: [For dipping] so that it neutralizes the poisonous effect (of the horse radish).
Then the Gemara asks what is the mitzvah of charoset? The Gemara gives answers that are familiar to many of us. Charoset symbolizes the mortar of the bricks we as slaves made in Egypt, hence its thickness. Charoset alludes to the verse in Song of Songs, "Under the apple tree I aroused you." The rabbis saw this as a metaphor that refers to the fact that the Israelite women gave birth without pain, and were thus able to hide their sons from the Egyptians.

There is a midrash that Rashi quotes which states the "mirrors of legions" which were donated for the "Mishkan" (the tabernacle) were used by our mothers, the Israelite women, to arouse their husbands when they returned to the fields so that a Jewish future could be built. Moshe did not want to accept the mirrors because of their association with desire, but God said these mirrors are the most dear to me, so you, Moses, are to accept them. Thus it is written, "Under the apple tree I aroused you."

Your Talmud Navigator
1. Everyone agrees that charoset should be part of the meal, but there is a disagreement on its status. If charoset is a mitzvah, why is there no blessing as there is for maror (bitter herbs)?
2. Why would charoset not be a mitzvah if we have perfectly good reasons for it to be included in the seder?
3. When Rabbi Eliiezer the son of Rabbi Tzadok said that charoset is a mitzvah, is he saying that it is a mitzvah from the Torah, or is it a rabbinic decree? If it's a rabbinic decree, why don't the rabbis know about it?

A Word
Charoset, unlike Maror (bitter herbs) is not mentioned explicitly in the Torah. The fact that we made bricks is recounted in the Torah, and we are commanded to tell the story. Part of telling the story is making it real by having tangible symbols. The Torah not only gives us matzah and maror, but gives us guidelines for how to make every aspect of the meal symbolic. When Rabbi Eliezer Bar Tzadok calls charoset a mitzvah, he is signaling that irrespective of the original reason for having charoset, there is an opportunity to symbolize another aspect of the story. It is a mitzvah to take charoset and give it a kind of meaning that enriches the story of the haggadah. For anyone who tells more of the story is considered praiseworthy.

Charoset challenges us to continue to deepen our symbolic understanding in new and different ways as we make a story long past a part of our immediate present.

Prepared by Rabbi Avi Weinstein

Poor Shavuot. It gets a bad deal. It goes largely unnoticed and unobserved by masses – maybe even by the majority – of Jews today. It seems to hold far less appeal than Passover. Even Sukkot fares better, and I won’t even talk about Chanukah, which, as our tradition presents it, is a rather minor affair. But Shavuot conceptually is big. It commemorates what is arguably the central event of Jewish experience: the giving – and the corresponding receiving – of the Torah at Mt. Sinai. And in the rhythm of our contemporary life it falls by the wayside for most Jews.

Why? Could it be that Shavuot simply comes at a bad time of year – exams, commencements, spring flings? Or maybe because compared to the other holidays Shavuot doesn’t give us anything to do. No special candles, no special meal, nothing to take or shake or blow.

But wait! There is special food. (There is always food when it comes to a Jewish festival – though on Yom Kippur you have to wait until the end.) On Shavuot it is customary to eat a dairy meal at least once. There are varying explanations for this; some of them can be found on the Web (Google "Shavuot dairy"). Some say it is a reminder of the promise regarding the Land of Israel, a land flowing with "milk and honey." According to another view, it is because our ancestors had just received the Torah (and the dietary laws therein) and did not have both meat and dairy dishes available. A likely story. More to the point, I think, is the verse in the Song of Songs that reads "honey and milk shall be under your tongue" (4:11), which some commentators understand to refer to the Torah. The idea is that the words of the Torah are as pleasant and acceptable to our ears and hearts as milk and honey are to our tongues (Kol Bo 58).

Did someone say Torah? What was that about "ears and hearts?" We come, then, to the main point: Shavuot is about Torah. It is not about an aspect of Torah, like teshuvah (turning, as in turning our life around by turning to higher matters) on the two High Holy Days. It is not about key ideas that underlie Torah, like freedom and redemption from slavery that Passover commemorates and promises. It is not about attempts to kill Jews (Purim) or Judaism (Chanukah). Shavuot is not about the ancillary; it is about the primary, the core, the reality of Torah as the foundation on which Jewish peoplehood rests. Jews may disagree about the nature of this Torah and how it is to be lived out, but there is consensus that "the Jewish people without Torah is like a body without a soul."

Good. But what is it that we are supposed to do on Shavuot? What is it we are supposed to do with Torah on this day (or these days)? Are we bidden to hear it read? Or are we bidden to study it? Is the celebration of Shavuot accomplished by hearing the Torah read publicly, thus replicating the Sinai experience? Or do we honor Torah by sitting over the text, perhaps with a friend or two, and analytically plumbing its meaning and implications? Hearing and studying are very different acts. Studying is intellectual; hearing is a different kind of cognition. 

The indications are that we can and should do both. When it comes to Torah, hearing and reading, reading and hearing, are not mutually exclusive acts. The Torah addresses both the heart and the mind - though not necessarily in that order. It is meant to be heard and it is meant to be studied. Indeed, Judaism presumes a synergy between what the auditory nerve and the optical nerve each transmit to the brain. To hear the Torah read aloud, on Shavuot or on any Shabbat or holiday, without having some idea of what it is that is reaching our ears is as problematical as knowing a great deal about the Bible without hearing the voices that are speaking in and through its text and pondering the import of what they may be suggesting or implying to us.  

We can observe Shavuot by hearing the account of the Sinai event declaimed aloud. Or we can set aside some time on the first night to sit alone or with a friend or a group of friends to engage with some Torah text – biblical, rabbinic, medieval or modern. We can do this for an hour or two or we can, as many now are doing, study and discuss all night long. Then, if we segue into a "dawn’s early light" morning service and hear the Torah read, we do both, capped off with a breakfast of blintzes and sour cream, a latte and even some decadent ice cream.

Shavuot is for all Jews, but only someone who is serious about Judaism and Torah will overcome the challenges of the season and get into it. Shavuot ultimately is a test, a test of how serious a Jew one really is.
 
Prepared by Rabbi James S. Diamond

The Torah teaches that on the festival of Sukkot we are supposed to "take" the following:

"the fruit of beautiful trees, branches of palms, and the boughs of thick tree foliage, and willows of the brook."

The Torah does not tell us what to do with these objects once we have taken them. It also does not tell us what they symbolize. The following commentary by rabbis who lived during the Talmudic period endeavors to understand the symbolism of these objects. Note that all four objects are necessary in order to fulfill the commandment. If one of the four objects is not taken then it is impossible to do the mitzvah (to fulfill the commandment).

The Rabbinic Midrashic (Commentary) on Leviticus:

THE FRUIT OF BEAUTIFUL TREES: symbolizes Israel; just as the etrog has taste as well as fragrance, so Israel have among them people who possess learning and good deeds. 

BRANCHES OF PALMS, too, applies to Israel; as the palm tree has taste but no fragrance, so Israel have among them those who possess learning but not good deeds.

AND BOUGHS OF THICK TREE FOLIAGE likewise applies to Israel; just as the myrtle (which is what the rabbis identified as being "boughs of thick tree foliage) has fragrance but no taste, so Israel have among them those who possess good deeds but not learning.

AND WILLOWS OF THE BROOK also applies to Israel; just as the willow has no taste and no fragrance, so Israel have among them people who possess neither learning nor good deeds.

What then does the Holy One do to them? To destroy them is impossible. But, says the Holy One, let them all be tied together in one band and they will atone for each other. If you have done so [says God], then at that instant I am exalted.

Your Midrash Navigator
1. How can one who has no learning and no good deeds atone for someone who has learning and good deeds?
2. Why do we not abandon the group that the "willows of the brook" represents?
3. If we think of the four species as the different kinds of Jews on campus, which of the species would be representative of the "engagement" group? Which wouldn't?
4. Is the object to bring the groups together, or do we "take" them separately?

A Word
Those who are very pious need to atone with the earthly for being too heavenly. The earthly need to atone with the heavenly for being too earthly. To be a balanced people it takes all kinds.

Our learning this week is not from a Torah text, but rather an event that our people commemorate annually. On Thursday, we observed the day of Tisha B'Av, the ninth day of the Hebrew month of Av. This day is infamous in history, for it is the anniversary of the destruction of both the First Temple in 576 BCE and the Second Temple in 70 CE. Throughout the years a number of catastrophes have been connected to the ninth day of the month of Av, including the last and losing battle of the Bar Kochba revolt in 135 CE and the edict for the expulsion of the Jews from Spain in 1492. This day in history has been a dreadful day of mourning and sadness for the many losses that the Jewish people have endured. Today, the ninth of Av continues to be observed by the Jewish people by fasting, prayer and by reading the book of Lamentations, called Eicha in Hebrew.

At the time of the destruction of the Temple, there were Jews who took their mourning practices to extremes. As he watched the Temple being destroyed, Rabbi Joshua ben Hananiah urged his students not to go to extremes in mourning the losses of the Jewish people. He said, "Not to mourn is impossible because the blow has fallen. To mourn excessively is also impossible, because we do not impose such a hardship on the community. A person may stucco his house, but he should leave a little bare. A person may prepare a full-course dinner, but he should omit an item or two." (from Jewish Days by Francine Klagsbrun). These words of Joshua ben Hananiah, as well as the day of Tisha B'Av itself, beg some further discussion.

Your Tisha B'Av Navigator

1. If today the State of Israel is a reality in our lives, why would we continue to observe Tisha B'Av, which commemorates the destruction of the Temples?
2. In addition to remembering the sadness of the destruction of the Temples on Tisha B'Av, the destruction is also remembered at every Jewish wedding. Why would we want to remember this sadness during the festivities of a wedding?
3. What does Rabbi Joshua ben Hananiah mean when he instructs his students to build a house, but leave a little bare, or make a dinner, but omit an item or two?
4. What do these practices of balancing the rituals of mourning and celebrating tell us about Judaism?

A Word

Judaism is a religion that often balances between two tensions: that of remembering sadness and that of rejoicing in the future. At first it may seem that these two states of mind are incompatible with one another. But as Jews we understand that both are important. It is essential that we remember our past, even when it has been difficult. And yet, dwelling on it could paralyze us and prevent us from reaching our potential, from realizing our future.

Likewise, only celebrating without remembering our past is shallow and unfulfilling. That is why even in our happiest and most hopeful times, we remember our sadness. For in doing so, we realize that our celebration is even sweeter and more holy as a result.

This Shabbat recognizes the holiness of remembering our affliction, yet finding comfort in our future. It is called Shabbat Nachamu, the Shabbat of consolation, and marks the first of seven weeks before the High Holy Days. The haftarah portion for this Shabbat comes from the prophet Isaiah, who offered people comfort and hope after the destruction of the First Temple. His prophecies were half suffering and half consolation. His message was not to give up hope -- that God would comfort the Jewish people. Even today, Isaiah's message continues to inspire and instruct the Jewish people. Do not give up hope. Even in times of great difficulty, continue to have faith in God. We are a people of great sadness and great triumph. Let us not forget either of them.

Today is no different. We wait with anxious anticipation as the difficult negations between Israel and the Palestinians continue. We watch with hesitant optimism and wonder as a Jew is slated for the Democratic vice-presidential ticket. May this Tisha B'Av cause us once again to pause for reflection. We are a people of great sadness and great triumph. May it always be so.

Rabbi Andrea Lerner

In the Torah portion Lech Lecha (Genesis 12 - 17), G-d tells Abraham that his descendants will be "like the dust of the earth" (13:16), and two chapters later, like the stars (15:5).

Why is there a need for both metaphors?  Does each one represent an idea that the other does not?

In his beautiful, insightful commentary, the renowned Torah scholar Rabbi Yosef Dov Soloveitchik (1820-1892), says there are, indeed, two different meanings. 

When we look up at the sky, we see individual stars, symbolic of the uniqueness of every Jew.

When we look at the dust of the earth, we realize it is virtually impossible to pick up one infinitesimal piece of dust.  It is only when millions of particles of dust are packed together that there is earth to walk on  Even though every Jewish person is unique like each dazzling star, we are in some ways insignificant if we are not closely knit together as a Jewish people with a sense of responsibility for one another.

In addition to the Jewish focus of the above interpretation, there is also a universal aspect of the stars and the dust of the earth.  The stars are beacons of light to all human beings, and the dust of the earth is the foundation that all people walk upon. 

The metaphor comparing the Jewish people to stars may suggest we need to be a source of light - caring, wisdom, healing, and hope - that helps all people whose world is dark with loneliness, disease, poverty, and despair.

And perhaps the metaphor that compares us to the dust of the earth reminds us to do our share as G-d's partners to be the terra firma for all people who are too weak, too hungry, too ill, or too hurt by life's hardships to feel that they are on standing on solid ground.  How?  By providing them with food, clothing, shelter, and other necessary help.

By impressing on students that each of us, star-like, has a unique ray of sunshine that can brighten others' lives, and by emphasizing that we can most effectively help others when, dust-like, we work closely together  and realize our responsibility for one another, Hillel professionals - and everyone involved in Jewish education -  help ensure a future of Tikkun Olam enthusiasts.

As the Hillel rabbi at Hofstra, I have the joy and privilege of working with college students and being inspired by the profound impact their acts of chessed (lovingkindness) have on them.

From preparing 800 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that are donated to local soup kitchens to writing over 600 cards expressing appreciation to those at the University who rarely get thanked, from sharing their warmth during visits with senior citizens to planning bone marrow drives, students become more compassionate as they devote their time, energy and heart to making a difference. 

Immersive experiences have an especially powerful, transformative impact.  In January, 2007, I staffed a group of eleven Hofstra students on a week-long Alternative Winter Break to New Orleans to clean homes devastated by Hurricane Katrina. Here are just a few of the many inspiring reflections I received from students about their experience:

            "This trip...has really helped put life into perspective.  I have never appreciated my home or family as much as I do now.  Throughout the trip, I have taken a lot of time to reflect on what so many people take for granted every day.  Spending my spring break in New Orleans has changed my life and I wouldn't change one minute of it for anything. I will always remember this trip and know that I have changed the lives of people who had once lost hope, and there is no greater gift I could ever give than to help restore that spirit of hope in those who need it most."   -Adi   

            "The trip had a great impact on my life.  As I gutted each home, I was, ironically, rebuilding someone's life.  To know that I was able to make a difference and brighten someone's life is simply amazing."    - Nicole

             "After spending one week doing relief work in New Orleans last winter [January, 2007], I realized...I would never be the same and knew I would not be satisfied until I could go back and help more. ... The spirit and hope that remains alive in the city is all the inspiration I needed to know in my heart I would find my way back again as soon as I possibly could.  A spark was ignited in me during my time spent volunteering in 2007 and has not gone out since.  I came back to New Orleans this past spring break..." - Shoshana  

In To Heal a Fractured World, Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, Chief Rabbi of Great Britain, says, "As long as there is hunger, poverty, and treatable disease in the world, there is work for us to do.  As long as nations fight, and men hate, and corruption stalks the corridors of power; as long as there is unemployment and homelessness, depression and despair, our task is not yet done, and we hear, if we listen carefully enough, the voice of G-d asking us, as he asked the first humans, ‘Where are you?'"

May we all be able to answer that question with "Hineni - Here I am!"  

This is an expanded version of an article originally written for the Young Israel of Great Neck and republished with permisssion fromwww.goodpeoplefund.org

Written by Rabbi Meir Mitelman

D'var Torah in Honor of Yitzhak Rabin

We live in a period of great political stratification. We are divided into red states and blue states, progressive and conservative, where even supposed unbiased media adheres to a political dogma, despite claiming to be "fair and balanced." Because of these divisions, now is a time where we need to stop and ask ourselves, how can we build relationships based on respecting the mutual humanity that exists between people who hold the most conflicting opinions and outlooks? The answer is crucial, as Jewish history shows us this week.

This week we mark the English date of the 10th anniversary of the assassination of Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin, which took place on Nov. 4, 1995. Prior to this tragic event, there existed great turmoil in Israel over what steps should be taken to pursue peace with the Palestinians. Rather than just argue against the position of Rabin and his supporters regarding the peace process, many opponents set out to malign and denigrate the prime minister by calling him a Nazi and accused of being someone who deliberately sought to damage the people and land of Israel. This poisoned atmosphere created a situation where assassin Yigal Amir saw no other choice but to murder Rabin. What could have been done to create a condition where passionate debate could be aired, but without dehumanizing one's adversary? We will try to seek out some answers in the following paragraphs. 

What constitutes a Jewish way of arguing? Is there really such a thing? Our tradition teaches us that an argument about serious topics must be "for the sake of heaven," that is, it must serve the higher good of obtaining truth about a matter. 

However, one may ask: How does one argue for a higher good without denigrating or dehumanizing one's opponent? How can mutual respect be maintained even when arguing about important matters of life and death, to go to an extreme?

Fortunately, we have some guideposts and examples from Jewish history to help us answer these questions. Our Jewish tradition of dispute, originating in the Talmud, declares that the benefit of "a dispute for the sake of heaven" far outweighs any imagined dangers. Different rabbinic personalities, despite disputing so vigorously, manage to behave peacefully and respectfully with one another. 

Rabbi Abba stated in the name of Samuel: For three years there was a dispute between the school of Shammai and the school of Hillel, the former that asserting the halachah (Jewish law) is in agreement with its views, and the latter contending that the halachah is in agreement with its views. Then a bat kol (voice from heaven) issued announcing, [the utterances of] both are the words of the living God, but the halachah is in agreement with the rulings of the school of Hillel. Since, however, both are the words of the living God, what was it that entitled the school of Hillel to have thehalachah fixed in agreement with its rulings? Because it was kindly and modest, it studied its own rulings and those of the school of Shammai, and was even so [humble] as to mention the actions of the school of Shammai before its own. (Talmud, Eruvin 13b)

The Talmud reports that no matter how deep the rift that separated the two schools of thought, their adherents were always allowed to marry each other. That is, they did not write each other out of the covenant of the Jewish people; their individual and collective contributions to the Jewish people were respected by the other.

What were the inherent components of rabbinic society that allowed disputants to draw together, despite very fierce and engaged disagreements between them, while today, in our Jewish communities, serious argument seems certain to cause pain and anger? Oftentimes, it goes beyond pain and anger and disagreements are used as justification, in some cases, for some Jews to question the Jewish identity of other Jews and even to justify Jews murdering other Jews! Some disagreements have even caused us to turn our backs to one another.

The rabbis following Hillel and Shammai were engaged in strident disputes that challenged the very basis of Jewish belief and practice, yet they, too, did not argue for its own sake. Instead, they sought to "argue for the sake of heaven" with the sole purpose to reach a deeper understanding of the respective arguments and to open lines of communication that facilitated a venue for respect and understanding. How did they achieve this? 

The rabbis recognized not only the inherent humanity of those opposing their arguments, but also that their Jewish identity was authentic. Their opponents "experienced" the exodus from Egypt and the revelation at Sinai, as well as the ongoing struggle with the imperial authorities. The recognition of common experience and history allowed the rabbis to argue from a sense of respect and dignity. 

How does this affect us as moderns? How do we insure that contemporary Jewish disputes are conducted with greater compassion and respect? The rabbis could tolerate and esteem and still encourage argument among themselves not only due to their common sense of history, purpose and fate, but because they lived fairly intertwined lives. They viewed intellectually stimulating arguments as challenges enabling them to dig deeper and to search for proofs and meaning in Jewish teachings, rather than a means to satisfy their individual egos.

The same cannot be said for the majority of the Jewish community today. The nature and diversity of our communities make it nearly impossible to comprehend the Jewish experiences of our fellows in any meaningful sense. It is too easy to live estranged lives from one another - our different experiences not only give us the means to understand our collective history and obligations in a completely different way from one another. They also allow us to opt out of the interpretation of Jewish experience entirely. The raison d'etre of the Jewish community differs according to who answers the question.

How then to overcome the growing differences between and within Jewish communities? Perhaps the answer lies with the idea of seriousness - are you a serious Jew? One who takes the history and collective experience of the Jewish people seriously? Does one engage in things Jewish and allow that there are multiple Jewish voices and experiences? How do we act to ensure that there is a strong Jewish community, a community that can embrace multiple voices and understandings? What repercussions are there from denying one another, from turning our backs to our fellow Jews? If we answer that there is something affirmative that ties the Jewish people together, such as a shared history that dates back centuries, perhaps then we can begin to argue with each other for the sake of heaven.

Prepared by Jonathan Willis

On Sunday, April 15th we will commemorate Yom Hashoah, Holocaust Remembrance day. If you have ever been in Israel at this time it is one of the most memorable moments. To hear the deafening siren throughout the streets, to see every individual stop their cars exit a bus, stop walking, and pause, taking note that there are those that came before us whose lives where cut short because of senseless hatred and the world stood idly by too long. The moment of silence with the siren sounding is the loudest most deafening silence that I believe exists. The siren and silence is truly the God Elijah heard in the “Kol Demma Daka,” the still small voice. 

Everyone stands and hears the silence, and just like that at the end of the siren people get back in their cars, walk back on a bus, continue shopping and finish their meal, returning to their daily chores. And so our remembrance continues every year. 

But is it enough to remember, to recount the horrors that had befallen our people? In Hebrew school we teach our youth a phrase that has been ingrained into part of every Jewish heart, a phrase that needs to stir us from idleness, a phrase that when uttered reminds us that we can not live our lives in complacency – Never Again. Two words that we will always know their symbolism, but what do they really mean? 

At the University of Colorado in Boulder every year we sponsor a Holocaust Awareness Week to bring to the forefront the horrors of the Holocaust and educate the community of our tragic history. This year, the students on campus embraced these two words and not only remembered the lives of our collective families’ that perished but celebrated the righteous acts of individuals who risked their lives to save another. Throughout the week, the underlying characteristic that all these righteous individuals possessed was a sense of goodness, seeing themselves as human beings, not heroes but average individuals doing what was right. 

One individual who had a great impact was Sir Nicholas Winton, an English stockbroker. While in Prague on vacation, he saw hundreds of Czech children in refugee camps and realized their unfortunate fate at the hands of the Nazis. He organized the deportation of over 600 children to England, with no existing infrastructure, and for no other reason than there was no other choice. Like many other righteous individuals of the Holocaust, he saw himself not as a hero on some great pedestal, but rather as average person doing what was necessary at the time. 

Righteous gentiles are models for us today: to act, not as heroes but as average people doing what is necessary. To stand up and truly live by the words, Never Again. Can we, with integrity, say that we have lived up to these two words or will they continue to haunt us for generations to come, when our children say to us, how could you allow genocides to continue while preaching the words, Never Again. 

Hillel, as an organization charged to provide meaningful Jewish experiences to college students, must be at the forefront of change and to respond to these words. We must collectively come together and act like those who saved thousands in the Holocaust, as average people, seeing the suffering and persecution of another human being and acting to make a difference. 

Every year we commemorate the disaster of the Holocaust, remember the six million Jews whose lives ended so abruptly, the hundreds of Jewish towns that were destroyed, the millions of stories lost forever, and say Never Again. But this year I can only hope that those two words will ring in all of our ears and hearts and move us to action to not stand idly by while the blood of our brother in Darfur is being spilled. It is our responsibility, in fact a positive mitzvah, a commandment from the Torah, to act on behalf of the innocent victims in Darfur. I can only hope and wish that we will look back on this time, and with integrity say to one anotherm, we responded to the genocide in Darfur and upheld the teaching of Never Again. 

Written by Rabbi Adam Naftalin-Kelman

As I sit immersed in the space that exists between the holiday Rosh Hashanah and the holiday of Yom Kippur, traditionally known as the Aseret Y’mai Teshuva (Ten Days of Repentance), I am consumed with thoughts about the concept of time and the concept of repentance. The appearance of this space on my calendar causes me, and many others I am sure, to reflect on the year that has passed, both the time that has elapsed as well as the actions I have and have not taken that have shaped myself and those around me. The question I want to pose here is What is the connection between time and repentance?

If you think about it, time in many ways is meaningless and doesn't exist. The way we measure time can be seen as artificial and contrived. In Judaism we have a blessing, a blessing that many will be saying numerous times over the next couple of weeks, the blessing of shehecheyanu. The Hebrew is as follows: "Baruch atah adonai eloheinu melech ha'olam shehecheyanu v'kiy'manu v'higyanu lazman hazeh." And an English translation: "Blessed are You Adonai our God, King of the world (alternatively: Creator of time and space) who has supported us, protected us, and brought us to this time."

Traditionally, Jews say this blessing on holidays and upon special new occasions (some say it upon wearing a new article of clothing for the first time). I think this blessing and this time of year remind us that, yes, time can be fleeting and if we allow it to be, time can be meaningless. The challenge of this time and this blessing is to figure out how to sanctify the time and the space we are in now, at this very instant. Now is the only time that is not meaningless and not only is it not meaningless but it is absolutely exploding with potential.

I really like the message of the blessing of shehecheyanu, but I have trouble reconciling it with my understanding of repentance. Specifically if at its essence one understands the blessing of shehecheyanu as a reminder to seize the moment, that being every moment, why does there seem to be a specific season in which one should repent?

This coming Shabbat is known as Shabbat Shuva (the Sabbath of Returning). There is this sense in the Jewish world that now is the prime time to repent. The Haftorah portion that is read on this Shabbat begins with the verse, "Return, Israel to the Lord your God, for you have fallen because of your sin." The verse implores us to return from our wrong doings and repent. But why do we read this verse now on this Shabbat? Does it have to be that during the days before and after Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur we are implored to repent and all other times the concept hardly registers on our collective radar screens?

The truth is that according to Maimonides, a 12th century Jewish scholar, true repentance has extreme time restrictions associated with it. Maimonides writes "what constitutes complete repentance? He who is confronted with the ideal situation wherein he previously sinned and it lies within his power to commit the sin again, but he nevertheless does not succumb…" If this is the case then our emphasis during this space of year on repentance is grossly misguided and fatally flawed. There is no one time of year when one should be focusing on repentance, rather according to Maimonides we have to be prepared to repent at any moment, because at any moment the test you failed previously could plop itself down in front of you again.

There is a story from the Babylonian Talmud that enhances this point. "Rabbi Eliezer said: ‘Repent one day before your death.’ His disciples asked him, ‘Does then one know on what day he will die?’ Rabbi Eliezer responded ‘All the more reason he should repent today, lest he die tomorrow.’"

At every moment we have the potential to better ourselves and repent for all of those things that we may have done wrong in our lives. This time of year not only comes to remind us that it is essential to sanctify time so that we can imbue it with meaning, but it also suggests a way for us to do so. The process of intense introspection and repentance provides us with a way to sanctify time. The days surrounding Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are not the only times we should be looking to repent, looking to return to good from bad that we may be doing deliberately or inadvertently. But just as this season reminds us to sanctify time it also reminds of how we can go about doing just that.

Written by Reuben Posner

Our tradition teaches that Rosh Hashanah is when God examines all of creation and inscribes their fate for the coming year. Yom Kippur is when that fate is sealed.

It would seem that Rosh Hashanah should be the day of greater import, yet it is viewed as part of the lead-up to Yom Kippur. Why this sequel to "Judgment Day"? Why do we need this extra period between sentencing and the verdict?

Does Yom Kippur just provide a last chance to get things right, at least in our heads - and improve on our score with God and/or our fellow man?

The Rosh Hashanah service is inherently grounded in this world and in our senses, a time of awe and majesty: Zichronot - Remembrance of the past deeds of our ancestors and the Jewish story; Malchiot - Recognizing the kingship of the Almighty; Shofarot - a primal sound calling us to attention and attendance. After Elul and a month of introspection and repentance, we share meals with family and friends and look forward to a sweet year and a new lifecycle.

On Yom Kippur, we withdraw from the world through fasting, restrictions on what we can wear and what we can do, and immersing ourselves in prayer. We even refrain from the clarion call of the shofar, so present throughout Rosh Hashanah.

There is an expression in Hebrew: M'shane makom, m'shane mazal - change your place and you change your luck.

On Yom Kippur, we try to transcend our reality, to find ourselves in another "place" - mentally, spiritually and psychologically. From this new vantage point, we can look out with a refreshed perspective on our lives and sins and chart a different course for the future.

Our sages have two notions of repentance, one a process of behavior modification and the other an instantaneous return. This wholesale "return" becomes possible through the transformation of Yom Kippur, when you withdraw and free yourself of distractions - and illusions - creating space within to hear the Kol Dimama Daka, that still small voice, and become attuned with the world as it could be. G'mar chatimah tova. May we all be sealed for a good year.

Prepared by Keith Krivitzky

This upcoming week marks the anniversary of September 11th and finds us in the midst of preparing for Yom Kippur this Sunday night. As part of the Yom Kippur Musaf service we read of the ten Rabbinic Martyrs who were executed by the Romans in the year 135 CE. This powerful narrative is usually sped through since it happens toward the end of the long Musaf service. Looking at one of the martyr's stories in depth may help us pay attention to this compelling, but often overlooked part of the service. The images of fire and the message he leaves with us have particular resonance in the wake of the images so ubiquitously branded on our television drunk consciousness.

Babylonian Talmud, Avoda Zara 18a
Narrator: In the year 70 CE, the Romans destroyed the Jewish Temple in Jerusalem and took control of the region. This story takes place during the reign of the Emperor Hadrian who squashed the Bar Kochba rebellion and sought to rebuild Jerusalem as a pagan city in his honor. During the infamous Hadrianic persecutions Jews were forbidden to live in Jerusalem, study Torah and observe the commandments. It was during this time that the most prominent Talmudic scholars were publicly executed. Rabbi Chanina Ben Tradyon was one of ten who have been memorialized in High Holiday liturgy.

This is his story:
Narrator: Our Rabbis taught: When Rabbi Yossi ben Kisma fell ill, Rabbi Hanina ben Tradyon went to visit him. Rabbi Yossi said to him:
Rabbi Yossi: Hanina, my brother, don't you know that Heaven has ordained this Roman nation to reign? Even though she has laid waste to God's House, burnt His Temple, killed His pious ones and caused His best ones to perish, she continues to stand! Yet, what is this I hear about you? That even though you know it is forbidden, you are gathering large crowds in public to teach them with a Torah scroll in your lap.
Hanina: Let the heavens have mercy.
Rabbi Yossi: I speak to you words that make sense and you say, let the heavens have mercy? I wouldn't be surprised if they burn both you and your Torah at the stake...
Narrator: It wasn't long before Rabbi Yossi Ben Kisma died and the Romans eulogized him with great fanfare. When they returned from the funeral they found Rabbi Hanina teaching Torah to the multitudes with a Torah scroll in his lap. They tied him together with his Torah and surrounded him with kindling wood. The executioner took sponges of wool and soaked them in water, and placed them on Hanina's heart so he would not die quickly. The executioner lit the fire and Hanina's daughter cried,
Beruriah, Rabbi Hanina's Daughter: Father, is this what you deserve?
Hanina: This might be difficult if I was being burned alone, but the one who would disgrace the Torah may as well disgrace me."
Narrator: His students asked,
Students: Rebbe what do you see?"
Hanina: The parchments are burning, but the letters are flying free.
They replied: You too, open your mouth and let the flames take you.
Hanina answered: "Let the one who gave me life take it away and let me not harm myself.
The Executioner then said to him: Rabbi, if I raise the flame and remove the woolen sponges from over your heart, will you bring me to [your] olam haba (world to come)?'
Rabbi Hanina replied: Yes.
The Executioner: Swear to me.
Narrator: Rabbi Hanina swore to him. So, he increased the flames and removed the wool from Hanina's heart and Hanina expired quickly. Then, suddenly, the Executioner himself jumped into the flames and died.
A bat-kol (voice from Heaven) exclaimed: Rabbi Hanina ben Tradyon and the Executioner have been welcomed in the world to come.
[Upon witnessing this] Rebbe wept and said: There are those who earn their world to come in a single moment, and those for whom it takes many years.

Your Talmud Navigator
1. What is meant by Rabbi Hanina's words, "The parchments are burning but the letters are flying free"?
2. Why does Hanina refuse to hasten his own death?
3. How does the Executioner earn his place in olam haba?
4. Compare the martyrdom of R. Hanina Ben Tradyon to that of the executioner.
5. How do you understand the weeping of Rabbi Yehuda the Chief?
6. Relate this passage to your own notions of martyrdom.

A Word
As we reflect back on the year that was and the horrors of September 11, and as we prepare for Yom Kippur this passage resonates very strongly with us. Rabbi Hanina's willful martyrdom does not necessarily parallel the innocent victims of September 11th. But his message, "The parchments are burning but the letters are flying free" embodies one of the central messages heard in the wake of September 11: While there is physical destruction, the spirit lives on. In our Talmudic passage, the Romans are ultimately defeated because that which they wanted to destroy could not be destroyed. "The letters are flying free!" So too with September 11. The terrorists can never crush the American spirit. The legacy of the victims will endure forever.

Prepared by Rabbi Avi Weinstein