This week’s torah portion: Lech Lecha – Genesis 12:1−17:27 October 30, 2020

Summary: 

Abram, Sarai, and Lot journey to Canaan. Famine then takes them to Egypt.  Eventually, Abram and Lot separate. Lot is taken captive, and Abram rescues him.  Abram has a son, Ishmael, with his maidservant, Hagar. God establishes a covenant with Abram. The sign of this covenant is circumcision on the eighth day following a male baby's birth.

Lesson:

In the days of the Torah there weren’t political campaigns.  Abram and Sarai didn’t run for office.  They didn’t ask to be appointed the founders of the Jewish people.  Why does God choose Abram for this important role?  Why Abram?  The Torah doesn’t actually give us an answer.  However, the rabbis ask this important question and, in the Midrash, give a variety of responses. 

The rabbis teach that Abram was special because he asked good questions, insightful questions, brave questions. As a child I was taught the rabbinic fable about Abram in his father’s idol shop.  Abram asked how idols made of wood and stone could be gods.  He wondered how statues of wood and stone could create the world.  So, one day he staged a battle between the idols in his family’s home and had the idols destroy each other.  When his father was angry at the scene of destruction, accusing Abram of destroying the idols, Abram responded “I didn’t do it – the idols did!”  His father quickly responded, “you know they can’t do that!”  “Aha,” responded Abram.  “How can you worship these idols who don’t even have the strength to destroy each other?!” 

The rabbis also teach that Abram was a fair and caring person.  In the Midrash Abram is portrayed as a man with deeply held values.  When it came to business, he would only quote fair prices.  In times of trouble people would come to him for advice. When he was told that someone was ill, he would not only offer a prayer for healing, he would also fulfill the commandment of visiting the sick, making the person feel better due to his love and concern.   

There is a rabbinic story that Abram avoided drunkenness and gluttony.  When confronted with others who lived to excess, he instead searched for people who considered their every action. Abram tried to associate only with people who cared about the land, about others, and about the future. 

Why did Abram receive the honor of being chosen by God to be the founder and leader of the Jewish people?  Because he was wise and willing to ask difficult questions.  Because he cared deeply about decency and empathy.  Because he refused to live a wasteful life and instead devoted himself to investing in the future.

We are fortunate that we can look to Abram as our ancestor.When we look for leaders today, we ought to follow in God’s footsteps and choose those who live according to these central values.

This week’s torah portion: Noah: Genesis 6:9-11:32 - October 23, 2020

In our portion this week, God decides to cause a flood that will destroy the world, sparing only Noah's family and the animals that Noah gathers together on the ark. Life starts over again after the Flood. The Noahide Commandments are listed, and God uses a rainbow to make a symbol of the first covenant.  People start to build a city and the Tower of Babel. God scatters the people and gives them different languages to speak. The ten generations from Noah to Abram are listed.

Lesson:

The Burj Dubai, a tower to the heavens, appears in our Torah portion this week!

After the story of the flood, and the appearance of the rainbow, comes the story of the Tower of Babel.  The people decided to build a tower that reached up into the heavens. Seeing the tower, God decided to scatter the people’s all over the earth and make them speak different languages.  The city where all this takes places is called Babel, which means “confused” or “mixed up” – an appropriate description of the entire story! 

As we read our story we might ask: “What was wrong with building a tower as tall as the heavens?”  Many of our skyscrapers seem to be attempting that goal!  And also, “Wouldn’t we be better off if peoples everywhere spoke a common language? Wouldn’t that improve communication and lead to enhanced cooperation and maybe even peace?”

The rabbis in our tradition ask similar questions and wonder what did the people of Babel do wrong?

Abravanel, a Spanish/Portuguese commentator from the 15th century explained that the people of Babel got along just fine until they started building the tower.  Then they began to argue about every detail…who would bake the bricks, who would carry them, and who would place them on the tower.  Each one wanted the credit.  The project led to jealousy and eventually hate.  We’re told that they weeped when a brick fell and was lost but when a person fell to his or her death, they were immediately replaced without a second thought.  Instead of building for good the people of Babel ended up competing for fame. 

A more modern Biblical scholar from the 20th century, Beno Jacob, suggests the failure of the tower was because the people of Babel were working for the wrong goal.  Instead of using their talent and wealth to improve the lives of those in the city, creating housing for the poor, sick and aging, they used their resources to build a tower for their own fame.  The terrible mistake was to use their wealth for pride and vanity instead of using it to improve the quality of life in their city.

Sforno, a famous Italian commentator of the 16th century, taught a different lesson.  The real crime, he argued, was the desire of the builders to ensure there would be one religion for everyone, one point of view on the world, one political way of doing things.  The builders were fearful of diversity in opinion and belief, opposing freedom of thought and discussion.  Thus, when God saw that the builders of the tower were crushing individual freedoms, it was necessary to intervene and scatter human beings throughout the world. 

We continue to build taller towers and yet the questions of Babel still echo for us.  Are we using our wealth for the good of society or for our own fame?  We speak many languages, however, are we open to a diversity of thought and discussion?  It could be that God saved us from ourselves by destroying the tower, dispersing us around the world with many languages! The story of the Tower of Babel comes to teach us to build for positive and not for selfish reasons and to understand that our differences in language, culture and traditions can lead to strength and blessing for humanity. 

This week’s Torah portion: Beresheet - October 16, 2020

The first instance of the seventh day as a day of rest is found in this week's parasha. God worked for six days creating the world and on the seventh day God ceased working. The word Shabbat comes from the Hebrew word meaning "to cease."

There is no further mention of the seventh day as a day of rest until Israel reaches Sinai. At Sinai, Shabbat becomes a sign of the covenant between God and Israel. In the book of Exodus it reads, "It shall be a sign for all time between Me and the people of Israel. For in six days Adonai made heaven and earth, and on the seventh day God ceased from work and was refreshed." (Exodus 31:17) The concept of Shabbat as a day of rest expanded to include a time to become refreshed and renewed.

The essential meaning of Shabbat was to cease working, but what was to be the definition of work? In the book of Numbers, a man is called a Sabbath breaker because he gathered wood on the Sabbath. During the Rabbinic era, Jewish sages codified the work restrictions of the Sabbath. They identified 39 actions as "work" and these categories were recorded in the Mishna. The actions identified as "work" (and therefore prohibited on Shabbat) included: any kind of agricultural work, spinning, weaving, sewing, hunting, slaughtering, kindling fire and transporting. Through the centuries the definition of work expanded to respond to modern day developments and inventions. Sabbath restrictions now include prohibitions on transacting business, touching money, writing, tearing paper, smoking, switching on lights, using the telephone, television, computer, traveling and carrying.

Shabbat looms large in Jewish tradition and ritual. The  entire week leads up to Shabbat and it is for Shabbat when we sing some of our most beautiful melodies, recite poems and prayers glorifying and sanctifying this most sacred of days, and prepare foods unique to the Shabbat table.

One might focus on Shabbat observance as a series of prohibitions, those things one is forbidden to do. But what if we were to shift the focus from what we are forbidden on Shabbat to what we can do to make Shabbat a more special and sacred time?

What can we do on Shabbat to make it a day filled with meaning and fulfillment?  Is Shabbat the day we visit grandparents?  Is Shabbat the day we gather as a family for lunch or dinner?  Is Shabbat the day we dedicate to a tzedakah project?  Maybe on Shabbat we explore the natural world around us by going for a hike, a bicycle ride or taking a walk along the beach. Fro me, Shabbat begins early on Friday morning.

For me, on Friday morning, even before I go out and exercise, I begin the process of making challah. That is when Shabbat begins. After feeding the cats, when the house is still a little quiet and the noise from the street has yet to permeate our home, I open the pantry and take out the simple ingredients we use to make Challah: yeast, flour, salt, oil, water, sugar. When I make challah, I join my hands and my heart to the generations and traditions that came before me. The simple age-old act of mixing, kneading, and rising provides me with moments to meditate and think about the past, concentrate on the present, and imagine the future. I think about my grandmother’s gnarled hands moving the dough across her wooden countertop, seemingly miraculously changing a heap of flour into a wondrously braided loaf.

Challah is traditionally braided or formed into shapes associated with the changing seasons and holidays. A challah braided from three strands is said to symbolize truth, peace, and justice. Round loaves, where there is no beginning and no end, are baked for Rosh HaShanah to symbolize continuity. On Purim, small triangular loaves symbolize Haman’s ears; sweet challahs with honey or raisins are baked during the festive season to bring joy and happiness.

On Sunday, October 18th, at 10am we will gather as a community and make challah with “The Challah Prince”- an Israeli now living in Berlin who is a true challah expert. Please sign up and joni us as we explore challah and its history and folklore. And hopefully- you will begin the tradition of baking this historic bread to begin your own Shabbat celebration.

Shabbat shalom

This Week’s Parashah: Simchat Torah - October 9, 2020

This Friday we celebrate Simchat Torah.  It is the holiday where we celebrate as we finish the reading of the Torah with the last portion of the entire Torah and begin a new cycle of reading with the chanting of the first book of the Torah: the story of creation. 

In the last portion of the last book of the scroll- V’zot Habracha- we hear Moses’ last charge to the Israelite people.  Then we recount Moses’ final moments as he ascends Mount Nebo to die.  The people mourn for Moses and following this, Joshua takes command of the Israelite nation.  

As this reading finishes, we commence the story of creation. 

It is the wondrous beginning to our peoples’ epic journey.  With the opening words: ”In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth…” not only are the stars, the heavens, the waters and all of God’s creatures formed- but the story of our people, the story of which you and I and our children and grandchildren are a part unfolds.  

As we read the story of creation, we know that our patriarchs, our historical mothers, the saga of Noah, the trials of Moses, the journey through the desert, the ten commandments will all open up and dance upon the pages of the Torah before us.  Even though we read and reread week after week, year after year, generation after generation, we read each time with a new set of eyes, we hear the stories with new ears and we interpret the stories with new found wisdom and new interpretations.

We tell the stories over and over and teach them to our children, who in turn will share them with the next and next and next generation.

The last word of the Torah is “Yisrael.”  The first word of the Torah is “Bereshhet.”  The last letter of the Torah is a lamed- the first letter is a vet.  When we combine the first and last letter- it makes the word “lev” (heart).

When we end the Torah reading and begin again- we take the Torah to our heart.  Like the v’ahavta prayer tells us:  with all your heart- with all your soul- with all your might.   The study of Torah is the center of our bodies- it is the center of our lives.  The Torah is the center of Judaism, for it is the source from which all else emanates. 

As you hear the last and first words on Simchat Torah, and you (virtually) dance with the Torah and hold it (virtually) close to your body- this year pull it in a little closer and a little tighter and let the ancient parchment touch you and renew the commitment to study, Jewish life, and acts of loving kindness.

Shabbat Shalom

Cantor Evan Kent

This weeks Blog by Cantor Evan Kent - October 3, 2020 Sukkot

I grew up in a Reform Jewish community in eastern Long Island. Sukkot was the holiday after Rosh Hashana when we finally said “farewell” to summer. The weather turned cooler, heavy coats emerged from moth-ball encased slumber, and the screen doors were replaced with storm windows. There were two sukkot in the neighborhood synagogue- one on the bema of the synagogue and one in the synagogue’s parking lot. They were decorated with local flora- pine branches, maple leaves, and bull rushes from the shores of the Great South Bay. As a religious school student, I remember we would go into the sukkah and sing songs and chant the blessings but we never ate in the sukkah or slept out there- it was just too cold.

                When I moved to Los Angeles and began my tenure as the cantor at Temple Isaiah, Don and I embraced the yearly building and decorating of our sukkah. Our home sat on a hill overlooking the entire San Fernando Valley and the Santa Monica Mountains provided the perfect backdrop for our seasonal structure. Friends were invited to help decorate and each year the sukkah had a theme. One year was Super-heroes, another year the theme was famous Jewish women, and in 2001, just weeks after the attack on the World Trade Centers, the sukkah was decorated in red, white, and blue.            

Seven years ago, Don and I made Aliyah to Jerusalem and in our shipping container of household goods that sailed from Los Angeles to Ashdod and then was trucked to Jerusalem were some of our favorite sukkah decorations:  the sides of a sukkah lovingly painted by a friend and some decorations left over from that 9/11 sukkah. When we looked to purchase an apartment in Jerusalem we always hoped the “right one” might include an outdoor space suitable for a sukkah: perhaps a balcony large enough to hold a sukkah that would be open to the stars or maybe a ground floor apartment with a garden.

                The apartment we purchased and subsequently renovated was neither on the ground floor nor had a balcony large enough for a sukkah—so the decorations stay in our machsan (storage room) in the building’s basement. But that doesn’t deter our Sukkot celebration. Instead—in the years when there wasn’t a pandemic raging around us we have been invited to the sukkot of friends. Although we don’t build a sukkah due to the space limitations—many of my Jerusalem neighbors are extremely creative on how they manage small apartments while adhering to the traditional rules for sukkah construction.

                It seems that Jerusalem is the home to a particularly unique sukkah: precarious cantilevered sukkot hanging off the sides of buildings. These sukkot are marvels of engineering: balcony sides are opened and lowered and a temporary floor extends  creating space for the construction of a sukkah. I’ve never been invited to dine or dwell in one of these sukkot—and I’d be terrified to spend much time hanging off the side of the building while pretending to enjoy reciting b’rachot and finishing a meal. But as much as I’m scared of being a guest inside one of these sukkot—I’m just as unnerved walking under them. They hang, seemingly effortlessly off the sides of buildings, and are neither part of the ground nor a part of the sky. As I pass by on the street—keeping a good distance away-—I can hear the voices of those inside celebrating—oblivious to their tenuous nature relying on the cables that are suspending them forty feet off the ground.

                What is exceptional about these Sukkot that populate Jerusalem is they literally hang between the two Jerusalems of which the ancient rabbis speak: the Jerusalem above or the heavenly Jerusalem (shel malah) and the earthly Jerusalem or the Jerusalem below (shel matah). In Jerusalem, we live constantly and continually in these two places. There is the Jerusalem of holy places and sacred people and there is the Jerusalem of searching for a parking spot and sitting in traffic. There is the Jerusalem of hopes, dreams and spiritual yearning and there is the Jerusalem of political conflict, religious battles, border crossings, and walls. This is the message of Sukkot here in Jerusalem—trying to find our place, our sacred space, and attempting to hover like modern angels hanging off the sides of the buildings for just a few days while soaring between the sacred and the profane, the earthly and the heavenly, the real and the unreal.

Shabbat Shalom

Cantor Evan Kent

Cantor Kent's Blog - September 24, 2020

Dear Friends,

We invite you to read Cantor Kent’s blog this week. Wishing you all a happy Gmar Chatima Tova for a wonderful year in spirit with your lovely families.

Jonah: Running Away from Ourselves

(On Yom Kippur, we read the Book of Jonah, except this year, due to the shortened nature of our online Zoom services, we will omit the telling of this prophetic story.)

I loved living in Los Angeles as Los Angeles is one of the most athletic cities in the world. We have the weather and geography that allows us to literally flex our muscles almost every day of the year.

Go surfing in the morning- go mountain biking in the afternoon.

Go skiing in the morning- go sailing in the evening.

Perhaps one of the biggest sports in Los Angeles is running. You see runners everywhere. On main streets. On the boardwalk at the beach. On the trails in the Santa Monica Mountains. At my former congregation, Temple Isaiah, we had lots of runners from casual runners to hard core marathon racers. And even if you're not a runner- I want you to meet one of the most famous runners in the entire Bible: Jonah, the central figure in the prophetic book we read on Yom Kippur afternoon.

Jonah is the story of a man running. Jonah is commanded by God to tell the people of Nineveh that they will face destruction- but what does Jonah do? He runs away. Instead of going toward Nineveh, Jonah boards a ship in the port city of Jaffa that is going toward Tarshish- far away from the destination God intends for him. Jonah doesn’t just run away- he runs far away- in the other direction. So eager is Jonah to run away from God and away from his call to prophecy, that, according to one Biblical commentator, he even pays the fares for all the other passengers on the ship. Jonah was so determined to run away, to sail away, that he charters the entire boat.

Once on board the ship, Jonah thinks he has successfully run away from his responsibility to warn the people of Nineveh of approaching destruction. A storm rages and the sailors aboard believe that one of them is causing their misfortune. They cast lots-sort of like rolling dice- and it turns out that Jonah is the cause of the storm. They ask Jonah “Who are you? Why are you here? Who sent you?”

And Jonah replies: “I am a Hebrew. I was sent by God who made heaven and earth. “

Even in a moment of dire need, Jonah is still running- he is running away from who he is, and he never tells the other sailors his name.

So he is tossed into the water in the hopes that with him off the ship, the storm will subside.

The whale part of the story is easy. Jonah cannot run too much here: there are no treadmills in the belly of whales-. However after three days in the whale, Jonah is spit out and then-only then-does he travel to Nineveh.

When he arrives, he warns the king of Nineveh and all the inhabitants and even the animals to put on sack cloth and fast in order to repent. But Jonah does not want to see the results, he does not hang around- he is off running into the desert. Jonah is like the “Forrest Gump” of the Bible.

Again and again Jonah runs from his responsibility.

He runs from God.

He runs from Nineveh.

Ultimately Jonah is running away from himself.

When we join together on Yom Kippur, we are also runners. Like Jonah we are running away: we run from responsibility; we run from relationships; we run from family; we run away from community; we run away from the holy and sanctified.

Like Jonah we are often running away from ourselves.

However we aren’t able to run away from ourselves simply by boarding a ship or heading into the desert.

Yom Kippur reminds us that instead of running away from ourselves, we must take the time to confront ourselves, to effect a change within ourselves.

Yom Kippur reminds us that what we need is not a change of scenery, but a change of soul.

That’s what this day is all about- it’s about running toward ourselves, beginning the process of change.

So this year, on Yom Kippur afternoon, let us commit that this be the year we try to end our running away. Maybe this will be the year when we end that marathon of running from ourselves, from God, from one another.

Maybe this year is the year that we begin to run towards something instead.

Maybe this Yom Kippur we start running towards creating a world that is filled with justice.

May we this Yom Kippur start running toward a world that is filled with promise.

May we this Yom Kippur start running toward a life of sanctity.

May we, this Yom Kippur, change direction-and return to ourselves and our God.

When I was getting ready to race my first marathon, I was told: The most difficult part of running the race is not the race itself. No, it’s making the decision to run that race.

It’s time to make the decision to enter the race:

Lace up your shoes.

We’ve been called to the starting line…the clock is already ticking.

Shabbat Shalom

Cantor Evan Kent

Torah Portion – Rosh Hashanah Akeidat Yitzchak – the Binding of Isaac: Genesis 22:1-24

The Torah portion that we read on Rosh Hashanah is quite a frightening story.  In our portion, God tells Abraham to take his son, Isaac, and offer him as a sacrifice. Fortunately, at the last moment, God stops him, commanding him to sacrifice a ram instead.

The rabbis believed this was such an important portion that they chose it as the special reading for Rosh Hashanah morning. Traditionally the portion is understood to be a test of Abraham’s loyalty to God – would Abraham follow God’s orders, even when they ask for such a horrific act as sacrificing one’s own child? Abraham seems to pass the test. We read in the portion: “Now I know that you fear God, since you have not withheld your son, your favored one, from Me.”    

For many in our tradition the lesson of the Akeidah is blind loyalty to God.  Maimonides suggests that the portion teaches us that when we love and fear God, we do what God commands.  For Maimonides we learn from Abraham’s action how far we must go when we fear of God.

To be honest, I’ve always had a problem with this portion.  Why on one of the holiest days of the year do we listen to such a fearful story?  What kind of God would even ask for someone to sacrifice his son? I feel better knowing that other commentators in our tradition teach that blind loyalty to God is not the lesson of the Akeidah. In fact, our Torah portion for Rosh Hashanah might just teach us to be cautious of God’s commands, to question and think twice before we fulfil them.

According to some interpreters, Abraham did question God’s command and had serious doubts about God’s very strange request.  He did not march off immediately toward Mount Moriah.  He delayed his departure until the next morning.  He asked questions and evaluated the answers. He wanted to make sure he clearly understood God’s command before he acted upon it. Abraham’s did not have blind faith – rather he had faith based on questions and answers.

Yes, our Torah portion teaches us about faith – not blind faith but a faith based upon meaning and understanding.  Just as Abraham struggles to determine what God wants from him, so too do we struggle to understand what it means to be loyal to God.  From Akeidat Yitzchak, the Binding of Isaac, we learn to follow God’s commands.  However, we also learn that we have the right, if not the obligation, to ask reasonable questions to ensure that we understand the significance and the consequences of our actions.  

L’Shana Tovah

Rabbi Goor

This week’s torah portion: Nitzavim- Vayeilech -September 11, 2020

In this week’s torah portion we are getting closer and closer to the end of the reading of the entire scroll. And then, on Simchat Torah we read the last words of Deuteronomy and immediately begin with the words of Genesis. Moses’ speeches and pleas to the people are becoming ever more anguished and emotional. In this week’s portion, Moses addresses the Israelites with these sacred words:

“You are standing before God in order to enter into the Covenant of God and take the oath that God makes with you, so that God may fulfill God’s promise to your fathers Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. It is not with you alone, but with those who are here and those who are not here that God makes this Covenant and oath.”

In this one speech, we learn a lot from just the opening word. In the opening phrase: “You are standing…” The Hebrew word used here for standing is “nitzavim” (also the title of the torah portion). The more common word for “standing” in Hebrew is “omdim.” So, what is the difference? “Omdim” implies a passive standing, whereas “nitzavim” suggests a different sort of standing, one that is poised and ready for action. And in the case of the Israelites, they are literally poised on the border of Israel ready to enter the Promised Land. Their standing together as a nation is an act of solidarity and courage. This sort of standing is the standing with purpose, with direction, with intention. They are poised for action.

As the holidays Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur draw near, I suggest we stand at this time and employ the verb “Nitzvaim.” This is the time of year when we are so aware of our lives, the good we can do for others and society, and the changes we can make personally and communally, that we need to stand with purpose and with a sense of action. At this time of year, when we ask for forgiveness (teshuvah) from others and from the Almighty, we must do it with meaning and direction. Simply standing will not do.

On Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur this year, we stand to face God, face ourselves, face our families, and face our communities. May our standing be filled with action and intention. May our prayers be more than words. This year may our prayers literally stand for something.

Shabbat Shalom.

Cantor Evan Kent

This week’s torah portion: Ki Tavo September 4, 2020

In this week’s portion, Ki Tavo (When you come into the land…), the Israelites are told that the first fruits should be brought to God. God also tells the people that if they follow God’s rules and precepts they will be rewarded, but if they do not follow the rules set before them, they will be severely punished.

                The torah portion continues Moses’ narrative as he is preparing himself and the Israelites for his eventual death. Like a parent, Moses reminds them over and over of their obligations to God and as a nation to each other.

                On Shabbat not only do we read this torah portion, but we also read a haftarah—one of the readings from the prophets—from the Book of Isaiah. From Tisha B’Av (the Ninth day of the month of Av) when we recall the destruction of the ancient Temple in Jerusalem until Rosh HaShanah, every Shabbat we read a portion of the Book of Isaiah. These seven readings from Isaiah, are known as the “Sheva de-Nechamta” (The Seven Haftarot of Consolation). The Shabbat after Tisha B’Av, Isaiah tells us “Nachamu, Nachamu…Comfort, comfort my people…” Week after week the Haftarah portions remind us that God will offer comfort and these messages crescendo in their message and urgency until the week before Rosh Hashanah when the prophet Isaiah states: “I greatly rejoiced in the Lord.”

                This week’s Haftarah has words that may be familiar, as they are echoed in the song “L’cha dodi” that we sing to welcome Shabbat into our homes and lives. The words say:

                “Arise, shine (Jerusalem) for your light has come, the gory of the Eternal is upon you!”

                Isaiah says to the people of Jerusalem that although they have experienced destruction and devastation, God will be with you. 

                As we approach Rosh Hashanah, we may heed Isaiah’s message: we have been through an exceedingly difficult six months. We have been quarantined in our homes, we have been separated from friends and family, our lives have been turned upside down and inside out by this pandemic. But we still persevere. We have found our way, we have developed new routines, and eventually we will walk out of this seemingly never-ending wilderness into some sort of Promised Land.

                This year’s Rosh Hashanah will be unlike any Rosh Hashanah any of us have ever experienced. We will be apart -even if we are together. But we are still a community and when the shofar blasts the great Tekiah Gedolah—this year we most sincerely pray for a New Year filled with peace, blessing, sustenance, and most importantly, a year filled with health.

 Shabbat Shalom.

Cantor Evan Kent

August 29: Ki Teitze – Deuteronomy 21:10-25:19

Summary:  Moses reviews a wide variety of laws regarding family, animals, and property. Various civil and criminal laws are delineated, including those regarding sexual relationships, interaction with non-Israelites, loans, vows, and divorce. Laws of commerce pertaining to loans, fair wages, and proper weights and measures are given. The parashah concludes with the commandment to remember the most heinous act committed against the Israelites—Amalek’s killing of the old, weak, and infirm after the Israelites left Egypt.

Lesson:  The Torah presents us with both negative and positive commandments.  “You shall not murder” and “you shall not steal” are examples of negative commandments.  “Love your neighbor as yourself” or “observe the Shabbat and keep it holy” are examples of positive commandments.  This week’s portion teaches us the important lesson that Jews cannot remain indifferent.  We are taught this crucial lesson through both positive and negative commandments that seem unrelated but in the end remind us that we are not allowed to be indifferent. 

Indifference is the easy path.  How often do we pass by someone who needs our help? Maybe a driver by the side of the road with a flat tire or an elderly person afraid to cross the street?  How often do we sit silently through a joke that stereotypes and insults others for their race, religion, gender or sexual orientation?  How often do we pass by a beggar and give nothing, or a homeless person or an immigrant and turn our head?  We are tempted in those situations and in countless others to do nothing.  It may be human nature to be indifferent; it may be natural for us to turn away.  By our nature, human beings do not like to rock the boat!

This week’s Torah portion goads us beyond our usual complacency and instructs us to get involved.  “If you see your fellow’s ox or sheep gone astray, do not ignore it; you must take it back to your fellow.”  The rabbis enlarge the concept and teach that it is not simply our neighbor’s animals but also their garments and any other property which belongs to someone else that must be returned.  All these obligations fall under the positive command “You must not remain indifferent.” 

Along with the positive commandment we also learn this lesson through a negative commandment.  No Moabite or Ammonite can ever be admitted into the people of Israel “because they did not meet you with food and water on your journey [through the desert] after you left Egypt.”  Why are Moabites and Ammonites excluded from becoming Jewish?  Because they failed to demonstrate empathy and concern at a crucial moment.  As they Jews wandered in the Sinai desert without food and water, they remained indifferent.  This negative commandment ensures that we will not become like them. 

These commandments, both positive and negative, provoke us beyond our indifference, beyond our usual self-centered obsessions.  A person who claims to be religious yet who cannot take an extra moment to respond to human need, demonstrates the shallowness of his or her own faith.  From our own position it is easy to justify minding our own business.  However exactly to the contrary, from God’s perspective all life is a matter of spiritual concern.  We are commanded not to remain indifferent.  As God’s agents on earth, we take God’s perspective and worry about all life.  We are charged with the care of every living thing. 

Shabbat Shalom

Rabbi Donald Goor

August 21st: Shoftim – Deuteronomy 16:18-21:9

Summary:  In our portion this week Moses continues to review the laws given by God to the people as they prepare to enter the Promised Land.  Moses shares laws regarding both sacred and secular legislation. The Israelites are told that in every dealing they should pursue justice in order to merit the land that God is giving them. The people are warned to avoid sorcery and witchcraft, the abhorrent practices of their idolatrous neighbors. God tells them that should an Israelite unintentionally kill another, he may take sanctuary in any of three designated cities of refuge. Laws to be followed during times of peace and times of war are also set forth.

Lesson:  Sometimes in the Torah laws appear that seem completely random and we wonder why….why this law?  Why does this law appear at this moment?  In our portion this week, in the midst of a discussion of laws of warfare, Moses tells the people:  “When in your war against a city you have to besiege it a long time in order to capture it, you must not destroy its trees, wielding the axe against them.  You may eat of them, but you must not cut them down.”  Moses, as if to create sympathy for the trees, adds the question: “Are trees of the field like human beings, capable of withdrawing before you into the besieged city?”   When the Jewish people is in the midst of a war against another city during which we can assume many lives will be lost, must we really be concerned for the sensitivity of the trees?  

And lest we think that this sensitivity to trees applies only in the case of warfare, later rabbinic commentators extend the mitzvah to cover all forms of wasteful destruction under the principle of bal tashchit– do not destroy.  

We often think that modern day concerns are exactly that – modern and relevant only to us. However our parashah this week teaches us that concern for the environment is an ancient Jewish priority.  While in our portion we read about trees, in the book of Psalms the message is even deeper and all encompassing: “The earth is the Lord’s, and the fulness thereof; the world, and they that dwell therein;”.  This ancient Jewish teaching is stated quite eloquently by a Native American tribal chief  who wrote: “Teach your children what we have taught our children – the earth is our mother  Whatever befalls the earth befalls the children of the earth.”

The book of Psalms and the Native American chief are making a theological statement – the earth is a gift given to humanity by God.  Ibn Ezra, a great medieval rabbinic commentator teaches the lesson in another way.  He is quite pragmatic when he argues that trees provide fruit which we need in order to eat.  By cutting down a tree we are actually injuring ourselves.  Human beings should not destroy the environment because destruction of the environment results in self-destruction.  

The centrality of our Jewish concern for the environment is evident in a Talmudic teaching by Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai.  He taught that if you are in the midst of planting a tree and are told that the Messiah, the messenger bringing a new era of peace to the world, has arrived, you must not stop planting.  “First,” say Rabi Yochanan, “finish planting the tree, then go out and greet the Messiah.”

 Our portion teaches us, and our rabbis concur, that protecting the earth is a mitzvah. It is remarkable that Jewish tradition’s concern for the environment originates in an ancient time when fears about exploiting or endangering the planet were remote.  We can be proud that our tradition saw, and continues to see, the earth as a gift to us from God and that humanity is responsible as partners with God in sustaining the delicate ecological balance of the earth.  Thousands of years ago we were taught that we need a healthy earth so that we might live healthy lives.  The duty of ensuring the future through replenishing the earth is more important than promises of peace, even if they are brought by the Messiah.  We must work to preserve and protect the environment in order to promote our own survival.

Shabbat Shalom

Rabbi Don Goor

August 14 : Re’eh – Deuteronomy 11:26-16:17

Summary:  Our portion begins with Moses’ review of the laws given by God to the Israelites in preparation for their entering the Promised land.  The people are commanded to call out blessings and curses once they enter the land.  Moses then teaches them to destroy pagan places and objects of worship; to follow only true prophets and destroy all individuals and communities that serve other gods.  Also reviewed are the laws of kashrut, supporting the poor, and the yearly holiday cycle.

Lesson:  Its wonderful to be Jewish.  We can be proud of the holidays we celebrate and of the values we live.  Judaism adds depth and meaning to our lives and constantly reminds us to make our world a better place.  

It’s great to be proud of our Judaism. However do we have a right to be arrogant about it?  In our Torah portion this week we read that “God chose us from among all other peoples on earth to be God’s treasured people.”  Clearly the idea of the people of Israel as a “chosen people” is central to Jewish faith. Yet what does that mean?  By being chosen are we actually better than others?  

Moses tells the people that we are consecrated to God who has selected us not because we are powerful or numerous, but because God loves us.   Other rabbinic commentators, maybe with a sense of humor, define the relationship as one of mutual desperation!  God searched for a people to choose and no one wanted God until the God met the Israelites!  Rashi, the greatest of all commentators, compares the Israelites to a fine jewel in the collection of a king.  The king may have many jewels and gems, yet he may love one of them in a special way. Rashi teaches that all peoples and nations belong to God.  We may be special and precious, but we are not exclusive.  No people, including the Israelites, can claim they alone are God’s people.  

Modern Jewish thinkers are uncomfortable with the notion of chosenness, afraid it will lead to arrogance among our people and disdain from others.  Mordechai Kaplan, a 20th century rabbi, argues that there is not one truth that makes Jews better than others.  He writes: “No nation is chosen or elected or superior to any other, but every nation should discover its vocation or calling as a source of religious experience and as a medium of salvation to those who share its life…”  Rabbi Leo Baeck, in Germany and then in Israel, adds an entirely new idea to the discussion of chosenness.  He sees the concept of chosenness as conditional.  If the people obey God’s commandments and are loyal to their covenant with God, they will survive and prosper as a “chosen” people. 

Being chosen is not self-serving, making us better than others. Instead it challenges us to be a “light to the nations”.   Our people bear the task of beings God’s instrument for bringing truth, justice, righteousness, compassion and peace to all peoples of the earth.  For modern Jewish thinkers, we are not so much a “chosen” people but rather a “choosing” people – a people with a special task, a responsibility, a unique and important role to play in the world. 

Shabbat Shalom

Rabbi Donald Goor

This week’s Parasha: August 8: Eikev – Deuteronomy 7:12-11:25

Summary:  Moses continues with his 2nd speech to the people which includes many themes.  A reminder that if the people keep the covenant, God will protect the people and defeat their enemies when they enter the land of Canaan; if the people fail to keep the covenant and worship other Gods, they will be defeated by their enemies and exiled from the land; a call to the people to “circumcise their hearts”, renounce their stiff-necked ways and follow God’s commandments; finally, the second paragraph of the Shema appears.  This paragraph is not in our Siddur (prayer book) because of the theology of reward and punishment.   

Lesson:  We Jews spend a lot of time remembering the past.  We have entire Holidays that focus on remembering. At our Pesach seder we tell the story of slavery in Egypt.  On Tisha B’av and Yom Hashoah we focus on the pain we’ve faced in our history.  On Purim we celebrate how Esther stood up to the king and saved our people.  There are so many examples!

As the people prepare the enter the Promised Land Moses spends a lot of time remembering.  He reviews our history and the 40 years the Israelites spent wandering in the desert.  However lest we think we Jews are entirely focused on the past, in our portion this week Moses wonders what it will be like once the people conquer the land.  He is concerned that once we’ve defeated our enemies and life is comfortable our spiritual health will deteriorate.  Moses presents the people with four guidelines to ensure that the Israelites remain a holy people.  

Remember the hardships of the past.  Departing Egypt and then for 40 years wandering in the desert, God was with you.  Wherever you are, whatever you face, God will be with you.God is bringing you into a good land where you will lack for nothing.  When you have eaten your fill, give thanks for the bounty you enjoy.  Gratitude is an important virtue.Eventually the people will become comfortable and even wealthy.  However we should never be haughty and forget God’s commandments.  Even when our lives are secure, God’s commandments will continue to have meaning for us.  When we enter the land and defeat our enemies, we should not say: “God had enabled me to occupy this land because of my virtues.”  We should avoid arrogance and remain humble.

Even though as Jews we spend a lot of our time remembering the past, Moses’ concern for the future so many thousands of years ago remains valid for us today.  As a people we no longer face existential threats.  Wherever we are – in Milan or in Israel – we live a comfortable life.  We should continue to heed Moses’ words and follow his four guidelines. In this way we will continue to ensure our spiritual health!

Shabbat shalom.

Rabb Don Goor

This Week’s Parashah: Tisha B’Av

This week’s torah portion is the second in the Book of Deuteronomy. The recapitulation of previous messages from the torah takes place in Deuteronomy and in this portion we have a second presentation of the Ten Commandments and the Shema and V’ahavta.

                This week we also commemorated Tisha B’Av—a major Fast Day –in which we commemorate great tragedies in Jewish history, most notable the destruction of the Temple in ancient Jerusalem. It is a day of mourning here in Israel. The commemoration began on Wednesday night with those praying sitting on the floor, as if  mourning for a close family member, the chanting of the Book of Lamentations, and sad songs sung. From sundown until the next evening is a complete fast—no food, no drink, no water. 

                Although I understand Tish B’Av’s great significance, I do not fast. I fasted for years as a way to deepen my understanding of the great losses that had befallen our people and to mourn for the destruction of Jerusalem. But when I moved to Israel, when I moved to Jerusalem, I stopped fasting.  

                I do not  fast for a number of reasons. The destruction of the Temple made it possible for rabbinic Judaism to develop and for the development of a democratic Judaism that represents the people more than the priestly class. I do not mourn the end of a caste system, the sacrifices that took place in the Temple, or the authority vested solely to the Kohanim. The destruction of the Temple eventually made it possible for liberal Judaism to flourish with its sense of autonomy, the rights of women to be full partners in worship and the inclusion of members of  the community who had been literally relegated outside the Tent of Meeting. To pray for the rebuilding of the Temple (which is a central part of the Tisha B’Av prayers) would negate the democratization and modernization of the contemporary synagogue and Jewish community as we know it.

                I do not fast as my fast would ask for not only a rebuilding of the Temple, but also a rebuilding of Jerusalem. I live in a rebuilt Jerusalem. It is a magnificent modern city that is a juxtaposition of the ancient and modern and is increasingly becoming a hub for commerce, industry, and highlight for all of the Middle East. Jerusalem is not only rebuilt—it is constantly being rebuilt. The ancient stones intermingle with modern skyscrapers; the alleyways of the Old City are adjacent to a high speed train that can take you from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv in 28 minutes. 

                The Tisha B’Av fast mourns the destruction of Jewish unity. But the concept of unity is a false concept—a romanticizing of the past. The Jewish people have never been one. In ancient times we had infighting between sects and groups, most notably the Sadducees and the Pharisees. And today, that infighting is perpetuated by the blatant impunity and corruption of the Chief Rabbinate who defiles the name of God and tradition in their interpretation of their brand of Judaism that makes no allowances for the rights of women, the non-Jew among us, and members of the LGBTQ community.

                I will not mourn and fast on Tisha B’Av because the rebuilding and rededication of the Temple is predicated on the oppression of others living here in Israel: refugees, foreign workers, non-Jews, Palestinians, and Muslims. I cannot fast of Tisha B’Av when my fasting represents the negation of the rights of others and their oppression.

                So how will I observe Tisha B’Av? I will not go out to lunch or dinner—instead, I will stay home and read the ancient Book of Lamentations and modern words by poets such as Yehudah Amichai who understand the conflicted nature of this holy city I call home.

                On Tisha B’Av we sing: “Return us, O God and we shall return”- it is the last line of the Book of Lamentations. Tis Tisha B’Av, I pray that we return to a Judaism and an Israel blessed with fairness and goodness, righteousness and peace.

Shabbat shalom.

Cantor Kent

This week’s Parasha: Devarim July 24, 2020

This past February, before the Corona virus and Covid-19 overwhelmed our lives and we were all told to wear masks, keep our distance from each other, wash our hands many times a day, and purchased copious amounts of anti-viral sprays and cleaners and hand gels, I was in the United States. I was performing my one-person show “Shards” for Reform Jewish synagogues in Florida, Texas, and at Rodeph Sholom in New York City.

Anytime I am in Manhattan, I try to go see a few shows on Broadway. There is nothing quite as magical as entering a theater, finding your seat, settling in, and waiting for the lights to dim, the overture to begin, the stage lights to come up, and the actors to take their places. There is nothing like live theater: every performance is slightly different and there is an electricity in the air that cannot be replicated by any other art form.

The last show I saw on Broadway was the exhilarating “Hadestown”- -and when the theaters open up—and they will- put it on your list of shows you must see and I am sure it will come to Italy. It is a contemporary retelling of the Orpheus and Eurydice story. If you recall your Greek mythology, you will remember that Eurydice is sent to Hades- and only Orpheus can take her back to Earth—with one condition if on their journey out of Hades, Orpheus never turns around to make sure Eurydice is still behind him. But- as myths would have it- he does turn around and his beloved is banished forever to Hades.

So, you are wondering, what does this have to do with this week’s torah portion: Devarim (Deuteronomy). Deuteronomy is the fifth book of the Torah and it is not only the concluding book of the Five Books of Moses; it is also a recapitulation of the stories that have come before. When we come to Deuteronomy, we know we are coming to the end of the yearly cycle of reading Torah. In Deuteronomy, we will encounter Moses telling the Israelites over and over to obey God, to not stray from the path God has set before them, to remember where they have been, to recall their Journey, to not forget that they were slaves once in Egypt. And then in the last verses of the entire book, we will read of Moses’ impending death.

As Moses knows his death is approaching, he blesses the Israelites. Moses’ tone changes from a sometimes-angry parent to a loving father and blesses each tribe of Israel offering both a remembrance of the past and hope for the future. Moses then ascends Mount Nebo and dies.

So- you are still wondering, I am sure, what does this have to do with the Broadway musical, “Hadestown”? At the conclusion of “Hadestown” the narrator looks directly at the audience and sings:

It’s an old song…it’s an old tale from way back when…

It’s an old song- and that’s how it ends…

The song was written long ago- and that’s how it goes.

It’s a sad song- it’s a tragedy…

But we sing it anyway…

‘Cause here’s the thing-to know how it ends and still begin to sing it again

These final lyrics remind us how even though we may know the outcome of the story, we read it and retell it again and again. When we hear the myth of Orpheus and Euridice we hope that maybe, just maybe this time, Orpheus will not turn around and the couple will enter the world of the living. When we read torah, there is that hope against hope that maybe, just maybe this time when we come to end, Moses, instead of dying on Mount Nebo aged and alone, will finally enter the Promised Land, hand in hand with his successor, Joshua.

But every time we tell the story, Orpheus does turn around. And every time we finish the book of Deuteronomy, Moses will die. And every time- just like for thousands of years before, we will finish the Book of Devarim and immediately begin from the beginning of the Torah: the story of Creation.

So- join me as we enter the Book of Deuteronomy. We already know what will happen. But that is the gift of storytelling: for a brief moment we suspend our knowledge of the already revealed plot as if we are hearing the story for the first time.

As we are told in “Hadestown”: We’re gonna sing it again and again…

Shabbat shalom.

Cantor Kent

This week’s Parasha: Matot-Maasei July 17, 2020

This week’ Torah portion is a double portion. We read the portions of Matot (meaning tribes) and Maasei (journeys). And it is with these two portions that we conclude the Book of Numbers (known in Hebrew as “Bamidbar” -in the desert) and move onto the fifth book of the Torah: Deuteronomy.

In these two portions we encounter the Israelites near the end of their 40-year journey as they cross the desert and come closer to the Promised Land. It is the ultimate immigrants’ story: leaving one home and searching for another. And along the way facing hardship, hunger, battles emotional and physical, and the victories encountered along the way.

The Israelite journey took place thousands of years go—but our own immigrant story- our personal journeys or the journeys of our grandparents’ or great grandparents took place much more recently. Just as the Torah recounts our people’s history and we are compelled to remember our collective history—it is important for us to recall our individual stories. 

Most of us are immigrants: we came from someplace else and ended up where we are currently. My own family traveled from Russia to the United States at the beginning of the 20th century. Their story is one of hardship and poverty, anti-semitism, and hope.

Your personal journey may also be a journey towards faith and belief. Perhaps you were not born Jewish, but have now chosen to embrace the traditions, laws, customs, prayers, and holidays of being Jewish. Perhaps you were born Jewish, but your current journey has led you on a path to better understanding of traditions and customs, philosophy, and theology.

Whatever your journey has been and whatever path you are currently on needs to be celebrated. To embark on any journey is to take a step of faith into the unknown. Tell the story of our own journey and discover the journey of those who came before you for all these narratives are a part of who you are. These stories become our own personal Torah and if we are fortunate and blessed the stories will be recounted by generations to come.

When we reach the end of parasha Maasei we have reached the end of the Book of Numbers and after the last reading is completed, the congregation chants: Chazak, chazak v’nitchazeik…Be strong, be strong and we will be strengthened.

May we all be blessed and strengthened on our incredible, wonderful journeys.

Shabbat shalom.

Cantor Kent

Parasha Pinchas July 10, 2020

In this week’s very busy torah portion (Numbers 25:10-30:1) we read about God elevating Pinchas who speared two lovers in a tent (yes- it’s in the Torah) is given an elevated position by God, Moses appoints Joshua as his successor, God tells the Israelites which land will be theirs, and the Daughters of Zelophehad establish the right for women to inherit property when there are no living male heirs.

What’s amazing is that the names of the Daughters of Zelophehad are actually mentioned in the torah. Although the torah often omits the name of women in narratives,  in this instance their names are recalled: They are: Mahlah, Noa, Hoglah, Milcah and Tirzah.

They approach Moses and the leaders to present their case; their father has died and had no sons. Rather than let their father’s name and his land be lost, they argue that they should be made heirs of the land. Moses goes directly to God, who tells Moses that the women are right and they deserve the land.  How wonderful we think! Feminism and women’s rights are alive in ancient Israel.

Not so fast. The ruling from God to Moses comes with a condition: They can keep their land ONLY if they marry an Israelite man. No Israelite man. No land. Of course, the Torah doesn’t deal with issues such as: what if one of the daughters doesn’t want to marry or what if she wants to marry a non-Jew?

The Daughters of Zelophehad are considered to be very wise and righteous. Rashi, the medieval French commentator, notes that they are righteous and deserving of praise because the Torah names them. The Talmud (Bava Batra 119b) also states: “The daughters of Zelophehad were wise, seeking and righteous.”

And not only were they wise and honorable and virtuous, they were brave in approaching Moses and unified in their cause. But in the end, their power is diminished by men (who wrote the laws at the time) who we can assume felt threatened by them.

In Israel, the ultra-orthodox continually attempt to eliminate the voice and image of women from the public sphere. Religious radio stations prohibited the playing of songs sung by women and religious radio talk shows often do not permit women to call in and ask questions. Women’s images are defaced on billboards and advertisements and a recent IKEA catalogue mailed to mostly Ultra-Orthodox homes removed women from the publication. And just a couple of weeks ago, the Knesset Committee on Women appointed as its leader a right-wing male member of the Knesset who had little experience dealing with women’s issues.

Throughout the ages, from Biblical times to the modern day, men try to stifle the voices of strong women. In recent days, we have seen politicians across the globe try not only to silence and repress women, but people of color, the LGBTQ+ community, and indigenous people.

Why do they (and it is mostly white men) who try to silence the voices of others? Because they are threatened. Because they are scared. Because they know that their hegemony will not last forever.

We need to be like our foremothers: Mahlah, Noa, Hoglah, Milcah and Tirzah and raise our voices -not to just sit politely at the table and be grateful for our position there. We need to demand equality, be strong, and be like the Daughters of Zelophehad.

Shabbat shalom.

Cantor Kent

Friday July 3, Parashat Balak

In this week’s torah portion, Balak, King Balak and the people of Moab, fear the Children of Israel. Balak requests that the prophet Balaam to curse the Children of Israel so that their military forces will be weakened, and they will not be able to defeat the Moabite army.

King Balak requests that the prophet appear twice—but Balaam does not respond. The third time Balaam opens his mouth and instead of cursing the Israelites he speaks the words that begin our morning worship: Mah tovu ohalecha Yaakov- mishkinotecha Yisrael…”How beautiful are your tents, O Jacob, your dwelling places, o Israel…” It is an amazingly fascinating story of poor leadership, bad judgement, or just desperation that causes the king to attempt the same solution and to fail again and again and again.

We are often caught in the “Balak trap.” Trying to do the same thing again and again and expecting different results. What are examples of this syndrome? Well—weight loss plans. Every January 1- the beginning of the secular New Year- we are bombarded by advertisements on television, radio, and the internet telling us that THIS is the diet to help you lose those 5, 10, 15 kilos. And of course when you lose those kilos, you will be happier, friendlier, and more successful—just like the smiling models in the commercials who I am sure have never dieted a day in their lives.

So you try the diet: Paleo, Keto, Intermittent Fasting, the No White Foods Diet, Hi Carb, Low Fat, Vegan, Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, Low-Carb, Atkins…and what happens? You start the diet and withing a few weeks your back to eating ice cream sitting on the couch. And you feel terrible. It is the “Balak Effect”- trying the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result (Some claim that Einstein called this the definition of insanity- but there is no evidence he actually said it).

When we drive in Tel Aviv, we are victims of the “Balak Effect.” We are driving looking for parking spots and we go around the block just “one more time” because this is the time that the Car Space Genii is going to magically clear a space for us. And around and around in circles we go searching for that elusive parking spot.

The “Balak Effect” extends beyond the personal and into the arena of public policy and international affairs. Here in Israel and much of the Middle East we are mired in a “Balak Effect” of violence triggering violence that only triggers more violence. A “Balak Effect” far more deadly than a weight loss program---but the basic theorem is the same

How do we extricate ourselves from this circle seemingly without end? How do end bad decision making or the inability to make decisions at all and instead feel like we are running incircles with one foot stapled to the floor?

I cannot prescribe a precise way for you to exit the “Balak Effect” -as all of us are different. But I can share with you how I have escaped from this. When we are driving and looking for that non-existent parking spot—we make a turn. It sounds simple—but it totally reorients you and puts you (and the car) in a different place.

What about the elusive quest for peace here in the Middle East? Why has this never succeeded? In my estimation, it is because the lead players have hardly changed, and no new thinking has ever taken place. Our politicians and diplomats have never made that turn. They have never stopped the usual way of thinking and exited the circle.

And changes do not happen overnight. They occur little by little. Slowly you realize to turn down the other street. Gradually you might understand how a different way of approaching food and nutrition is more advantageous than a new fad diet.In the bestselling book “Atomic Habits” by James Clear the author explains how it is this little steps- one at a time- that add up to big change. We can stop the “Balak Effect”—we just have to start one step and one day at a time.

This Shabbat take a moment to reflect on what changes can you undertake? And what can you do step by step moment by moment.

Shabbat Shalom

Cantor Evan Kent

Beth Shalom

Friday, June 26 : Parashat Korach

 June 26:  Korach – Number 16:1-18:32

Summary:  This Parasha reports another uprising – this one against Moses.  Korach and his band of followers argue that Moses and Aaron are acting holier than the other Israelites and that they should share power.  God agrees with Moses and the earth opens up and swallows Korach and his band.  Then Moses organizes Aaron and his descendants as priests in the ancient Temple. 

Lesson:  I love magic shows.  I realized even as a child that it was all an illusion. I would stare so carefully at the magician’s hands – it was so important to me to understand how it was done!  In our Torah portion this week each of the chiefs on the twelve tribes brought a staff to Moses.  The next morning Aaron’s staff had miraculously sprouted producing blossoms and almonds!  Wow.  How did they do it?!  

Miraculous events are reported throughout the Torah.  The ten plagues in Egypt!  The splitting of the Red Sea!  Manna falling from the heavens to feed the Israelites in the desert!  Water flowing from a rock!  And don’t forget the donkey that talks (coming soon in the Torah)!  How are we modern Jews meant to understand these incidents that defy the laws of nature?  Are we expected to accept such wonders based on our faith?  Are we heretics if we reject as impossible what is written in the Torah?!  How should we account for magic, for miracles?

Commentators on the Torah ask the same question.  They too find it hard to believe in miracles.  In the Mishnah the rabbis suggest that God “pre-programmed” each of these events when the world was created.  With this understanding, a miracle isn’t magic, instead it’s actually a phenomenon planned by God when God created the world.  The great rabbi Maimonides gives a completely different explanation.  He argues that it's natural to wonder about the miracles that appear in the Torah.  However we shouldn’t be overly concerned.  They simply demonstrate God’s mysterious and wonderful power over all nature.  Spinoza, the 17th century Jewish philosopher, rejects that miracles ever took place.  He explains them as “ignorant prejudices of an ancient people” who believe that God intervenes in nature for their benefit.  Modern scientists search for scientific explanations as a natural basis for ancient miracles.  For many the splitting of the Red Sea can be explained as a result of tides or a great wind.  Finally, Martin Buber, the 20th century philosopher and theologian writes: “it is irrelevant” ...if miracles took place.  “What is vital is only that what happened was experienced [by the people], while it happened, as the act of God.  The people saw in whatever it was they saw the wondrous power which God had wielded, and they had faith in God.”  For Buber a miracle takes place in the eyes of the beholder.  

A magic staff that sprouts blossoms and almonds?  Just like our ancestors, it is natural for us to wonder about magic and miracles.  We read about them with fascination, wondering about their meaning and sensing that they contain secrets we should try to understand.  We will never know if they occurred because of an aberration of nature or as an act of God.  Buber teaches us that our goal is to be aware of God’s presence in the world, to open our eyes to the potential of miracles around us.  As Jews we actually don’t need to find a scientific or philosophical answer.  Instead we can accept that what we experience every day is the miracle of God’s presence in the world.   What is most important is not what we see with our own eyes but rather what we feel with our own hearts.  

Shabbat Shalom

Rabbi Don Goor

Friday, June 19 : Parashat Shlach l’cha

June 19:  Shlach l’cha – Numbers 12:1-15:41

Summary:  Moses sends 12 spies into the land of Canaan to see what it is like and if it will be easy to possess. 10 of the spies return with a negative report and only two, Joshua and Caleb, return with a positive report.  The people are discouraged.  They complain and want to go back to Egypt.  As a result God punishes them.  Moses also instructs the Israelites regarding setting aside challah, the observance of the Sabbath, how to treat strangers, and the laws of tzitzit. 

Lesson:  What is the most annoying question a child can ask?  “Why”?  Why this, why that.  However the question “why” is one of the most wonderful questions that Reform Jews ask.  We often ask “why” – and our question has a purpose.  The more we understand about our religion the deeper our religious connection can be.  Our founders wanted to know “why” women couldn’t pray together with men?  “Why” women couldn’t count in a minyan?  “Why” women couldn’t be rabbis?  Thanks to the question “why” we now have women, we have LGBTQ+ people, we have people of color – all enjoying the freedom and the pleasure to be a Reform Jew.  

Our Torah portion this week also asks “why”?  Why do we wear a tallit?  In the Torah portion we read this morning, we are taught: “The Eternal One said to Moses as follows: Speak to the Israelite people and instruct them to make for themselves fringes on the corners of their garments throughout the ages; let them attach a cord of blue to the fringe at each corner. That shall be your fringe: look at it and recall all the commandments of the Eternal and observe them, so that …you shall be reminded to observe all My commandments and be holy to your God. I am the Eternal your God who brought you out of the land of Egypt to be your God: I, the Eternal your God.” This is the commandment of Tzitzit – of wearing a tallit.  

What an interesting commandment…Why does God want us to wear a fringe on our clothes?  After all, as the feminist theologian Judith Plaskow notes, “why should the creator of the universe care whether we put a ‘tassel on the corner of our clothes in every generation’ and what possible difference can it make…?” (Lawrence Hoffman, ed., My People’s Prayer Book, vol. 1 [Woodstock, VT: Jewish Lights, 1997], p.115). And yet many of us still do!  For many of us, wearing a tallit is a source of spiritual meaning.

True to Reform theology and unlike a more Orthodox approach, wearing the tallit is equally open to women and men, and is never something we would make mandatory. Rather, we hold to individual choice, whereby individuals do not judge others for the ritual decisions they make.

“Why” do we wear a tallit?  We learn in our Torah portion that God wants us to wear a tallit to “remember the commandments and to observe them.”  In the most traditional sense wearing a tallit is a physical reminder that we should actively live a Jewish life by fulfilling commandments.  

Let me add a more modern, a more spiritual understanding.  I believe that ritual acts are important.  They have the power to move us into a spiritual place.  Just as lighting candles on Friday night prepares us for the spirituality of Shabbat, wearing a Tallit can prepare us for the spiritual act of prayer.  Yehuda Amichai, the great Israeli poet, also asked “why” wear a tallit.  And in a beautiful poem he answered:

Whoever put on a tallis when he was young will never forget:
taking it out of the soft velvet bag, opening the folded shawl,
spreading it out, kissing the length of the neckband (embroidered
or trimmed in gold). Then swinging it in a great swoop overhead
like a sky, a wedding canopy, a parachute. And then winding it
around his head as in Hide-and-Seek, wrapping
his whole body in it, close and slow, snuggling into it like the cocoon
of a butterfly, then opening would-be wings to fly.
And why is the tallis striped and not checkered black and white
like a chessboard? Because squares are finite and hopeless.
Stripes come from infinity and to infinity they go
like airport runways where angels land and take off
Whoever has put on a tallis will never forget.
When he comes out of a swimming pool or the sea,
he wraps himself in a large towel, spreads it out again
over his head, and again snuggles into it close and slow,
still shivering a little, and he laughs and blesses.

May we always ask “why” so that our Judaism has meaning and purpose.  May we wrap ourselves in talitot, so that we may snuggle close to our Judaism…laugh and bless.  

Shabbat Shalom

Rabbi Don Goor